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ARM INELL 


BY 

S.  BARING-GOULD 

\UTH#R  #f  “RED  SPIDER,”  “LITTLE  TU’PENNY,1'  Etc.,  Etc. 


NEW  YORK 

FRANK  F.  LOVELL  & COMPANY 

142  & 144  Worth  Street 


Copyright,  1889, 

By  John  W.  Lovell, 


ARMINELL. 


CHAPTER  I.  . - 

SUNDAY  SCHOOL. 

Sunday-school  on  the  ground  floor  of  the  keeper’s  cottage 
that  stood  against  the  churchyard,  in  a piece  nibbled  out 
of  holy  ground.  Some  old  folks  said  this  cottage  had  been 
the  church-house  where  in  ancient  days  the  people  who 
came  to  divine  service  stayed  between  morning  prayer  and 
evensong,  ate  their  mid-day  meal  and  gave  out  and  received 
their  hebdomadal  quotient  of  gossip.  But  such  days  were 
long  over,  vhe  hon.se  had  been  used  as  a keeper’s  lodge  for 
at  least  a hundred  years.  The  basement  consisted  of  one 
low  hall  exactly  six  feet  one  inch  from  floor  to  rafters. 
There  was  no  ceiling  between  it  and  the  upper  house — only 
a flooring  laid  on  the  rafters.  In  the  pre-traditional  da>s 
the  men  had  sat  and  eaten  and  drunk  in  the  room  above, 
and  the  women  in  that  below,  between  services,  and  their 
horses  had  been  stabled  where  now  the  keeper  had  his  kennel. 

The  basement  chamber  was  paved  with  slabs  of  slate. 
Rats  infested  the  lodge,  they  came  after  the  bones  and 
biscuits  left  by  the  dogs.  The  pheasants’  food  was  kept 
there,  the  keeper’s  wife  dropped  her  dripping,  and  the 


2 


A R MI  NELL. 


children  were  not  scrupulous  about  finishing  their  crusts. 
The  rats  undermined  the  slates,  making  runs  beneath  the 
pavement  to  get  at  the  box  of  dog  biscuits,  and  the  sacks 
of  buckwheat,  and  the  parcels  of  peppercorns ; conse- 
quently the  slates  were  not  firm  to  walk  on.  Moreover,  in 
the  floor  was  a sunless  secret  cellar,  of  but  eighteen  inches 
in  depth,  for  the  reception  of  liquor,  or  laces  or  silks  that 
had  not  paid  the  excise.  The  slates  over  this  place,  long 
disused,  were  infirm  and  inclined  to  let  whoever  stepped  on 
them  down. 

During  the  week  the  keepers  wife  washed  in  the  base- 
ment and  slopped  soapy  water  about,  that  ran  between  the 
slates  and  formed  puddles,  lurking  under  corners,  and  when, 
on  Sunday,  the  incautious  foot  rested  on  an  angle  of  slate, 
the  slab  tilted  and  squirted  forth  the  stale  unsavoury  water. 

The  room,  as  already  said,  was  unceiled.  The  rafters 
were  of  solid  oak  ; the  boards  above  were  of  deal,  and  had 
shrunk  in  places,  and  in  places  dropped  out  the  core  of 
their  knots.  The  keeper’s  children  found  a pleasure  in 
poking  sticks  and  fingers  through,  and  in  lying  flat  on  the 
floor  with  an  eye  on  the  knot-hole,  surveying  through  it 
the'proceedings  in  the  Sunday-school  below. 

About  the  floor  in  unsystematic  arrangement  spraddled 
forms  of  deal,  rubbed  by  boys’  trousers  to  a polish.  Some 
of  these  forms  were  high  in  the  leg,  others  short.  No  two 
were  on  a level,  and  no  two  were  of  the  same  length. 
They  were  rudely  set  about  the  floor  in  rhomboidal  shapes, 
or  rather  in  trapeziums,  which  according  to  Euclid  have  no 
defined  shapes  at  all. 

There  was  a large  open  fireplace  at  one  end  of  the  room, 
in  which  in  winter  a fire  of  wood  burned.  When  it  burned 
the  doer  had  to  be  left  wide  open,  because  of  the  smoke, 
consequently  Sunday-school  was  held  in  winter  in  a draught. 
At  the  extremity  of  the  room,  opposite  the  fireplace,  stood 
Moses  and  Aaron — not  in  the  flesh,  nor  even  in  spirit,  but 


ARMINELL. 


3 


in  “ counterfeit  presentment  ” as  large  as  life,  rudely  painted 
on  board.  They  had  originally  adorned  the  east  end  of  the 
chancel ; when,  however,  the  fashion  of  restoring  churches 
set  in,  Orleigh  Church  had  been  done  up,  and  Moses  and 
Aaron  had  been  supplanted  to  make  room  for  a horrible 
reredos  of  glazed  tiles.  One  of  the  Sunday-school  scholars, 
a wag,  had  scribbled  mottoes  from  their  mouths,  on  scrolls, 
and  had  made  Aaron  observe  to  Moses,  “ Let  us  cut  off 
c<ur  noses to  which  the  meekest  of  men  was  made  to 
rejoin,  “ It  is  the  fashion  to  wear  ’em.”  But  through  ortho- 
graphical weakness,  fashion  had  been  spelled  fashum, , and 
wear  ’em  had  been  rendered  warum . 

But  why  was  the  Sunday-school  held  in  the  basement  of 
the  keeper’s  cottage  ? For  the  best  of  good  reasons.  There 
was  no  other  room  conveniently  near  the  church  in  which 
it  could  be  held. 

Lady  Lamerton  could  not  live  in  peace  without  a Sun- 
day school.  To  her,  the  obligation  to  keep  the  ten  com- 
mandments was  second  to  the  obligation  to  keep  Sunday- 
school.  How  could  the  ten  commandments  be  taught, 
unless  there  were  a Sunday-school  in  which  to  teach  them  ? 
About  a century  ago  Mr.  Raikes  invented  and  introduced 
this  institution  ; it  spread  like  measles,  schools  multiplied 
like  maggots.  It  became  an  incubus  on  consciences.  It 
was  supposed  to  be  the  panacea  for  all  moral  evil.  There 
are  still  to  be  found  persons  with  child-like  faith  in  Sunday- 
schools,  as  there  are  to  be  found  persons  who  believe  in 
spontaneous  combustion  and  calomel. 

The  national  school  was  two  miles  distant,  near  the  village. 
The  church  stood  in  the  grounds  of  Orleigh  Park,  and  its 
satellite,  the  Sunday-school,  necessarily  near  it. 

In  Yorkshire  it  is  customary  among  the  lower  classes  at 
dinner,  when  there  is  meat,  to  introduce  first  a huge  and 
heavy  slab  of  pudding,  and  the  young  people  are  expected 
to  devour  a pound’s  weight  of  this  before  meat  is  put  on 


4 


ARMINELL. 


their  plates.  It  is  thought,  and  justly,  that  a grounding  of 
leaden  dough  will  make  their  appetites  less  keen  for  roast 
beef.  On  the  same  principle  the  disciples  of  Mr.  Raikes 
serve  out  Sunday-school,  slabby  and  heavy,  to  young 
church-folk,  before  church  worship,  to  abate  in  some  degree 
their  relish  for  it. 

There  had  been  some  difficulty  about  a habitat  for  the 
Sunday-school.  Lady  Lamerton  had  tried  to  hold  it  in  the 
laundry  of  the  great  house,  but  the  children  in  muddy 
weather  had  brought  in  so  much  dirt  that  no  laundry- work 
could  be  done  in  the  room  on  Monday  till  it  jiad  been 
scoured  out.  Besides — a fearful  discovery  had  been  made, 
better  left  to  the  imagination  than  particularized.  Suffice 
it  to  say  that  after  this  discovery  the  children  were  banished 
the  laundry.  It  must  have  come  from  them.  From  whom 
else  could  it  have  been  derived?  The  laundry-maids  were 
Aphrodites,  foam,  or  rather  soapsud-born,  and  it  could  not 
proceed  from  such  as  they.  Some  said — but  nonsense — there 
is  no  such  thing  as  spontaneous  generation.  Pasteur  has  ex- 
ploded that.  So  all  the  pupils,  with  their  prayer-books  and 
Ancient-and-Moderns  under  their  arms,  made  an  exodus,  and 
went  for  a while  into  an  outhouse  in  the  stable-yard.  There 
they  did  not  remain  long,  for  the  boys  hid  behind  doors  in- 
stead of  coming  in  to  lessons,  and  then  dived  into  the  stables 
to  see  the  horses.  One  of  them  nearly  died  from  drinking 
embrocation  for  spavin,  thinking  it  was  cherry-brandy,  and 
another  scratched  his  ignoble  name  on  the  panel  of  one  of 
my  lord’s  carriages  with  a pin. 

So,  on  the  complaint  of  the  coachman,  my  lord  spoke 
out,  and  the  Sunday  scholars  again  tucked  their  prayer- 
books  and  hymnals  under  their  arms,  and,  under  the 
guidance  of  Lady  Lamerton,  migrated  to  a settled  habita- 
tion in  the  basement  of  the  keeper’s  cottage.  The  place 
was  hardly  commodious,  but  it  had  its  advantages — it  was 
near  the  church. 


ARMINELL. 


5 


Lady  Lamerton,  who  presided  over  the  Sunday-school 
and  collected  the  Sunday  scholars’  club-pence,  and  distri- 
buted that  dreary  brown-paper-covered  literature  that 
constituted  the  Sunday-school  lending  library,  was  a middle- 
aged  lady  with  a thin  face  and  very  transparent  skin, 
through  which  every  vein  showed.  There  was  not  much 
character  in  her  face,  but  it  possessed  a certain  delicacy 
and  purity  that  redeemed  it  from  being  uninteresting.  She 
was — it  could  be  read  in  every  feature — a scrupulously 
conscientious  woman,  a woman  strong  in  doing  her  duty, 
and  in  that  only  ; one  whose  head  might  be  and  generally 
was  in  a profound  muddle  as  to  what  she  believed,  but  who 
never  for  a moment  doubted  as  to  what  she  should  do. 
She  would  be  torn  by  wild  horses  rather  than  not  keep 
Sunday-school,  and  yet  did  not  know  what  to  teach  the 
children  in  the  school  she  mustered. 

Lady  Lamerton,  seated  on  a green  garden  chair  from 
which  the  paint  was  much  rubbed  away,  had  about  her  on 
three  sides  of  an  irregular  square  the  eldest  girls  of  the 
school.  The  next  class  to  hers  was  taken  by  the  Honour- 
able Arminell  Inglett,  her  step-daughter,  only  child  of  Lord 
Lamerton  by  his  first  wife. 

Miss  Inglett  was  very  different  in  type  from  her  step- 
mother ; a tall,  handsome  girl,  with  dark  hair  cut  short,  like 
a boy’s,  and  eyes  of  violet  blue.  She  had  a skin  of  the 
purest  olive,  no  rose  whatever  in  her  cheeks,  as  transparent 
as  Lady  Lamerton’s,  but  of  a warmer  tone,  like  the  mellow 
of  an  old  painting,  whereas  that  of  her  step-mother  had  the 
freshness  and  crudeness  of  a picture  from  the  easel  sent  to 
the  Royal  Academy  on  the  first  of  May. 

Arminell  differed  from  Lady  Lamerton  in  expression  as 
completely  as  in  type  of  feature  and  colour.  She  had  an 
unusual  breadth  of  brow,  whereas  Lady  Lamerton’s  fore- 
head was  narrow.  Her  eyes  had  not  that  patient  gentleness 
that  filled  the  dark  blue  orbs  of  her  ladyship,  they  were 


6 


ARMINELL. 


quick  and  sparkling.  Her  lips,  somewhat  prominent,  were 
full,  warm,  and  contemptuous.  She  held  her  head  erect, 
with  a curl  of  the  mouth,  and  a contraction  of  the  brows, 
that  expressed  impatience  to  the  task  on  which  she  was 
engaged. 

On  the  left  side  of  Miss  Inglett  sat  Captain  Tubb,  en- 
gaged on  the  illumination  of  the  souls  of  the  senior  boys. 
Captain  Tubb  held  no  commission  in  the  army  or  navy, 
not  even  in  the  volunteers.  He  was,  in  fact,  only  the 
manager  of  a lime-quarry  in  the  parish,  on  the  estate  of  Lord 
Lamerton,  but  such  heads  over  gangs  of  quarry  and  mining 
men  bear  among  the  people  the  courtesy-title  of  captain. 

Mr.  Tubb  was  a short,  pale  man  with  shiny  face  much 
polished,  and  with  sandy  moustache  and  beard.  When  he 
was  in  perplexity,  he  put  his  hand  to  his  mouth,  and  stroked 
his  moustache,  or  his  beard  under  the  chin,  turned  it  up, 
and  nibbled  at  the  ends. 

Some  folk  said  that  the  captain  taught  in  school  so  as  to 
stand  well  with  her  ladyship,  who  would  speak  a word  for 
him  to  my  lord;  but  the  rector  thought,  more  charitably, 
he  did  it  for  his  soul's  and  conscience  sake.  Captain  Tubb 
was  a simple  man,  except  in  his  business,  and  in  that  he 
was  sharp  enough.  Perhaps  he  taught  a class  from  mixed 
motives,  and  thought  it  would  help  him  on  a bit  in  both  worlds. 

“Yes,”  said  Lady  Lamerton,  “yes,  Fanny  White,  go  on. 
As  the  list  of  the  canonical  books  is  known  to  you  all,  I 
require  you  to  learn  the  names  of  those  books  which,  as  the 
sixth  article  says,  are  read  for  example  of  life  and  instruc- 
tion of  manners ; but  yet  are  not  applied  to  establish  any 
doctrine.  After  that  we  will  proceed  to  learn  by  heart  the 
names  of  the  Homilies,  twenty -one  in  all,  given  in  the 
thirty-fifth  article,  which  are  the  more  important,  because 
they  are  not  even  read  and  hardly  any  one  has  a copy  of 
them.  Go  on  with  the  uncanonical  books.  Third  Book 
of  Esdras,  Fourth  Book  of  Esdras.” 


ARMINELL. 


7 


“Tobit,”  whispered  the  timid  Fanny  White,  and  curtsied. 

“Quite  right,  Tobit — go  on.  It  is  most  important  for 
your  soul’s  health  that  you  should  know  what  books  are 
not  canonical,  and  in  their  sequence.  What  comes  after 
Tobit  ? ” 

“ Judith,”  faltered  Fanny. 

“ Then  a portion  of  Esther,  not  found  in  Hebrew.  What 
next?” 

“Wisdom,”  shouted  the  next  girl,  Polly  Woodley. 

“ True,  but  do  not  be  so  forward,  Polly ; I aril  asking 
Fanny  White.” 

“ Ecclesiasticks,”  in  a timid,  doubtful  sigh  from  Fanny, 
who  raised  her  eyes  to  the  boards  above,  detected  an  eye 
inspecting  her  through  a knot-hole,  laughed,  and  then 
turned  crimson. 

“ Not  sticks,”  said  Lady  Lamerton,  sweetly,  “ you  must 
say — cus.” 

A dead  silence  and  great  doubt  fell  on  the  class. 

“ Yes,  go  on — cus.” 

Then  faintly  from  Fanny,  “ Please,  my  lady,  mother  says 
I b’aint  to  swear.” 

“ I don’t  mind,”  exclaimed  the  irrepressible  Polly  Wood- 
ley,  starting  up,  and  thrusting  her  hand  forward  into  Lady 
Lamerton’s  face.  “ Darn  it.” 

Her  ladyship  fell  back  in  her  chair;  the  eye  was  with- 
drawn from  the  hole  in  the  floor,  and  a laugh  exploded  up- 
stairs. 

“ I — 1 didn’t  mean  that,”  explained  the  lady,  “ I meant, 
not  Ecclesiastics,  nor  Ecclesiastes,  which  is  canonical,  but 
Ecclesiasti — cus,  whicn  is  not.” 

Just  then  a loud,  rolling,  grinding  sound  made  itself 
heard  through  the  school-room,  drowning  the  voices  of  the 
teachers  and  covering  the  asides  of  the  taught. 

“ Dear  me,”  said  Lady  Lamerton,  “ there  is  the  keeper’s 
wife  rocking  the  cradle  again.  One  of  you  run  upstairs 


s 


ARM!  NELL. 


and  ask  her  very  kindly  to  desist.  It  is  impossible  for  any 
one  to  hear  what  is  going  on  below  with  that  thunder  roll- 
ing above.” 

“ Please,  my  lady,”  said  Polly,  peeping  up  through  the 
nearest  knot  in  the  superjacent  plank,  “ it  b’aint  Mrs. 
Crooks,  it  be  Bessie  as  is  rocking  of  the  baby.  Wicked 
creetur  not  to  be  at  school.” 

“ It  does  not  matter  who  rocks  the  cradle,”  said  her 
ladyship,  “ nor  are  we  justified  in  judging  others.  One  of 
you — not  all  at  once — you,  Polly  Woodley,  ask  Bessie  to 
leave  the  cradle  alone  till  later.” 

The  whole  school  listened  breathlessly  as  the  girl  went 
out,  tramped  up  the  outside  slate  steps  to  th£  floor  occupied 
by  the  keeper’s  family  above,  and  heard  her  say  : — 

“ Now,  then,  Bessie  ! What  be  you  a-maki ng  that  racket 
for  ? My  lady  says  she’ll  pull  your  nose  unless  you  stop  at 
once.  My  lady’s  doing  her  best  to  teach  us  to  cuss  down- 
stairs, and  her  can’t  hear  her  own  voice  wit’out  screeching 
like  a magpie.” 

Then  up  rose  Lady  Lamerton  in  great  agitation. 

“ That  girl  is  intolerable.  She  shall  not  have  a ticket  for 
good  conduct  to-day.  I will  go — no,  you  run,  Joan  Ball, 
and  make  her  return.  I will  have  a proper  school-room 
built.  This  shall  not  occur  again.”  j 

Then  Captain  Tubb  rose  to  his  full  height,  stood  on  a 
stool,  put  his  mouth  to  the  orifice  in  the  plank,  placed  his 
hands  about  his  mouth  and  roared  through  the  hole : “ Her 
ladyship  saith  Come  down.” 

Presently  with  unabashed  self-satisfaction  Polly  Woodley 
reappeared. 

“ When  I send  you  on  an  errand,”  said  Lady  Lamerton 
severely,  “ deliver  it  as  given.  I am  much  displeased.” 

“ Yes,  my  lady,  thank  you,”  answered  Polly  with  cheerful 
face,  and  resumed  her  seat  in  class. 

“ Now,  boys,”  said  Captain  Tubb  to  his  class,  which  wa? 


ARMINELL. 


9 


compos  d of  the  senior  male  scholars,  including  Tom 
Metiers,  the  rascal  who  had  put  the  inscriptions  in  the 
mouths  of  Moses  and  Aaron.  “Now,  boys,  attention.  The 
cradle  and  Polly  Woodley  are  nothing  to  you.  We  will 
proceed  with  what  we  were  about.” 

“ Please,  sir,”  said  Tom  Metters,  thrusting  forth  his  hand 
as  a semaphore,  “ what  do  Quinquagesima,  Septuagesima 
and  the  lot  of  they  rummy  names  mean  ? ” 

“ Rummy,”  reproved  Captain  Tubb,  “ is  an  improper 
term  to  employ.  Say,  remarkable.  Quinquagesima  ” — he 
stroked  his  moustache,  then  brightened — “ it  is  the  name 
of  a Sunday.” 

“ I know,  sir,  but  why  is  it  so  called  ? ” 

“ Why  are  you  called  Tom  Metters  ? ” asked  the  captain 
as  a feeble  effort  to  turn  the  tables. 

“I  be  called  Tom  after  my  uncle,  and  Metters  is  my 
father’s  name — but  Quinquagesima  ? ” 

• “ Quin-qua-gess-im-a  ! ” mu sed  the  captain,  and  looked 
furtively  towards  my  lady  for  help,  but  she  was  engrossed 
in  teaching  her  class  what  books  were  not  to  be  employed  for 
the  establishment  of  doctrine,  and  did  not  notice  the  appeai 
“ Yes,  sir,”  persisted  Metters,  holding  him  as  a ferr<? 
holds  the  throat  of  a rabbit,  “ Quinquagesima.” 

“I  think,”  said  Tubb,  eagerly,  “we  were  engaged  oi 
David’s  mighty  men.  Go  on  with  the  mighty  men.” 

“ But,  please  sir,  I do  want  to  know  about  Quinqus 
gesima,  cruel  bad.” 

“ Quin-qua-gess-ima,”  sighed  Captain  Tubb,  nibbling  the 
ends  of  his  beard  ; then  again  in  a lower  sigh,  “ Quin  qua 
gess-ima?”  He  looked  at  Arminell  for  enlightenment, 
but  in  vain.  She  was  listening  amused  and  scornful. 

“Gessima — gessima  ! ” said  Mr.  Tubb  ; then  falterr  r;ly  : 
“ It’s  a sort  of  creeper,  over  veranders.” 

He  saw  a flash  in  Arminell’s  eye,  and  took  it  ay  en- 
couragement. Then,  with  confidence,  he  advanced. 


IO 


ARMINELL. 


“ Yes,  Metters,  it  means  that  this  is  the  Sunday  or  week 
whereabouts  the  yaller  jessamine — or  in  Latin,  gessima — 
do  begin  to  bloom." 

“ Thank  you,  sir — and  Septuagesima  ? " 

“That,”  answered  the  captain  with  great* promptitude, 
“ that  is  when  the  white  ’un  flowers.” 

“ But,  sir,  there's  another  Sunday  collick,  Sexagesima. 
There's  no  red  or  blue  jessamine,  be  there  ? ” 

“ Red,  or  blue  ! ” The  teacher  looked  hopelessly  at 
Arminell,  who  with  compressed  lips  observed  him  and  shook 
her  head. 

“Sex — sex — sex,”  repeated  Mr.  Tubb,  with  his  mouth 
full  of  beard,  “ always  means  females.  That  means  the 
female  jessamine.” 

“Be  there  any,  sir?  There's  a petticoat  narcissus,  and 
a lady’s  smock,  and  a marygold,  but  I never  heard  of  a she- 
jessamine.” 

u There  are  none  here,”  answered  Tubb,  “ but  in  the 
Holy  Land — lots.” 

“ Really,  Arminell,”  said  Lady  Lamerton,  “ your  class  is 
doing  nothing  but  play  and  disturb  mine.” 

“ I am  on  the  stool  of  the  learner,”  sneered  the  girl. 

At  that  moment,  through  the  ceiling,  or  rather  boards 
above,  dropped  a black-handled  kitchen  fork  within  a hair's 
breadth  of  Arminell’s  head.  She  drew  back,  startled. 

“ What  is  it  ? What  is  the  matter  ? ” exclaimed  Lady 
Lamerton.  11  Run  up,  Polly  Woodley  ! — no,  not  you  this 
time  ; you,  Fanny  White,  and  see  what  they  are  about 
upstairs.” 

“Please,  my  lady,”  said  Polly,  peering  into  the  higher 
regions  through  the  hole,  “ Bessie  have  given  the  baby  the 
knives  and  forks  to  play  with,  ’cause  you  wont  let  her  rock 
the  cradle  and  to  keep  'un  from  crying.  He's  a shoving 
’em  through  the  floor.” 

Then,  down  through  the  knot-hole  descended  a shower 


ARMINELL. 


II 


of  comfits.  The  child  had  been  given  a cornet  by  its 
mother,  and  had  eagerly  opened  it,  over  the  hole  where  it 
had  poked  the  fork. 

The  school  floor  was  overspread  with  a pink  and  white 
hail-shower.  In  a moment,  all  order  was  over.  The  classes 
broke  up  into  individual  units,  all  on  the  floor,  kicking, 
scratching,  elbowing,  grabbing  after  the  scattered  comfits, 
thrusting  fingers  into  eyes,  into  soapy  water ; getting  them 
trodden  on,  nipped  between  slates,  a wriggling,  contending, 
greedy,  noisy  tangle  of  small  humanity,  and  above  it  stood 
my  lady  protesting,  and  Captain  Tubb  nibbling  the  ends  of 
his  sandy  beard,  and  looking  dazed  ; and  Arminell  Inglett, 
half  angry,  half  amused,  altogether  contemptuous. 

“ There  ! ” exclaimed  Lady  Lamerton,  “ the  bells  are 
going  for  divine  service  ^n  places  at  once — Let  us  nray ! 99 


CHAPTER  II. 


A FOLLOWER. 

The  church  bells  were  ringing,  the  Sunday  school  had  at 
last  been  reduced  to  order,  arranged  in  line,  and  wriggled, 
sinuous,  worm-like,  along  the  road  and  up  the  avenue  to  the 
church  porch.  Lady  Lamerton,  brandishing  her  sunshade 
ns  a field-marshal’s  baton,  kept  the  children  in  place,  and 
directed  the  head  of  the  procession. 

But  with  what  heart-burnings,  what  envies,  what  excited 
passions  did  that  train  sweep  on  its  way.  Some  of  the 
children  had  got  more  comfits  than  others,  and  despised 
Jhose  less  favoured  by  luck,  and  others  comfitless  envied 
the  more  successful.  Polly  Woodley  had  secured  more 
comfits  than  the  rest,  and  had  them  screwed  in  the  corner 
of  her  pocket  handkerchief,  and  she  thrust  it  exultantly 
under  the  eyes  of  Fanny  White,  who  had  come  off  with  one 
only. 

Some  sobbed  because  they  had  crumpled  their  gowns, 
one  boy  howled  because  in  stooping  he  had  ruptured  his 
nether  garments,  Joan  Ball  had  broken  the  feather  in  her 
hat,  and  revenged  herself  on  her  neighbour  by  a stab  of 
pin.  One  child  strewed  its  tongue  with  comfits,  and  when 
Lidy  Lamerton  did  not  observe,  exposed  its  tongue  to  the 
rest  of  the  children  to  excite  their  envy.  Another  was 
ngaged  in  wiping  out  of  its  eyes  the  soapy  water  that  in 
the  scuffle  had  been  squirted  into  them. 

Captain  Tubb  dropped  away  at  the  church  gates  to  shake 


ARMINELL. 


13 


hands  with,  and  talk  to,  some  of  the  villagers,  the  inn- 
keeper to  the  Lamerton  Arms,  the  churchwarden,  the 
guardian  of  the  poor,  and  the  miller,  men  who  constituted 
the  middle  crumb  of  the  parochial  loaf. 

Lady  Lamerton  likewise  deserted  her  charges  at  the 
porch,  and  having  consigned  them  to  the  clerk,  returned  on 
her  course,  entered  the  drive,  and  proceeded  to  meet  his 
lordship,  that  they  might  make  their  solemn  entrance  into 
church  together.  Arminell  had  disappeared. 

“ Where  is  the  girl  ? ” asked  her  ladyship  when  she  took 
my  lord’s  arm. 

“ Haven’t  seen  her,  my  dear.” 

“ Really,  Lamerton,”  said  my  lady,  “ she  frightens  me. 
She  is  so  impulsive  and  self-willed.  She  flares  up  when 
opposed,  and  has  no  more  taste  for  Sunday-school  than  I 
have  for  oysters.  I do  my  best  to  influence  her  for  good, 
but  I might  as  well  try  to  influence  a cocoa-nut.  By 
the  way,  Lamerton,  you  really  must  build  us  a Sundav- 
school,  the  inconveniences  to  which  we  are  subjected  a*e 
intolerable.” 

“ Have  you  seen  Legassick,  my  dear  ? ” 

“ I believe  he  is  standing  by  the  steps.” 

“ I must  speak  to  him  about  the  road,  it  has  been  stoned 
recently.  Monstrous  ! It  should  have  been  metalled  in 
the  winter,  then  the  stones  would  have  worked  in,  now 
they  will  be  loose  all  the  summer  to  throw  down  the  horses.’’ 
“ And  you  will  build  us  a Sunday-school  ?* 

“ I will  see  about  it.  Won’t  the  keeper’s  lodge  do  ? 
The  woman  does  not  wash  downstairs  on  a Sunday.” 

“ I wish  you  kept  school  there  one  Sabbath  day.  You 
would  discover  how  great  are  the  discomforts.  Now  we 
are  at  the  church  gates  and  must  compose  our  minds.” 

“ Certainly,  my  dear.  The  lord-lieutenant  is  going  to 
make  Gammon  sheriff.” 

“ Why  Gammon  ? ” 


r4 


ARM  I NELL. 


“ Because  he  can  afford  to  pay  for  the  honour.  The  old 
squirearchy  can’t  bear  the  expense.” 

“ Hush,  we  are.  close  to  the  church,  and  must  withdraw 
our  minds  from  the  world.” 

“So  I will,  dear.  Eggin’s  pigs  have  been  in  the  garden 
again.” 

“ There’ll  be  the  exhortation  to-day,  Lamerton,  and  you 
must  stand  up  for  it.  Next  Sunday  is  Sacrament  Sunday.” 
“To  be  sure.  I’ll  have  a lower  line  of  wire  round  the 
fences.  Those  pigs  go  where  a hare  will  run.” 

“ Have  you  brought  your  hymnal  with  you  ? ” 

Lord  Lamerton  fumbled  in  his  pocket,  and  produced  his 
yellow  silk  kerchief  and  a book  together. 

“That,”  said  his  wife,  “is  no  good;  it  is  the  old  edition.” 
“ It  doesn’t  matter.  I will  open  the  book,  and  no  one 
will  be  the  wiser.” 

“ But  you  will  be  thinking  during  the  hymn  of  Eggin’s 
pigs  and  Gammon’s  sheriffalty.” 

“ I’ll  do  better  next  Sunday.  The  gardener  tells  me  they 
have  turned  up  your  single  dahlias.” 

“ Hush  ! we  are  in  the  church.  Arminell  is  not  in  the 
pew.  Where  can  she  be  ? ” 

Arminell  was  not  in  church.  She  was,  in  fact,  walking 
away  from  it,  and  by  the  time  her  father  had  entered  his 
pew  and  looked  into  his  hat,  had  put  a distance  oi  half  a 
mile  between  herself  and  the  sacred  building.  A s dden 
fit  of  disgust  at -the  routine  of  Sunday  duties  had  come  over 
her,  and  she  resolved  to  absent  herself  that  morning  from 
church,  and  pay  a visit  to  a deserted  lime  quarry,  where  she 
could  spend  an  hour  alone,  and  her  moral  and  religious 
sense,  as  she  put  it,  could  recover  tone  after  the  ordeal  of 
Sunday-school. 

“ What  can  induce  my  lady  to  take  a class  every  Sun- 
day ? ” questioned  Arminell,  in  her  thought.  “ It  does  no 
good  to  the  children,  and  it  maddens  the  teachers.  But, 


ARMINELL. 


T5 


oh  ! what  a woman  mamma  is!  Providence  must  have  been 
hard  up  for  ideas  when  it  produced  my  lady.  How  tire- 
some ! ” 

These  last  words  were  addressed  to  a bramble  that  had 
caught  in  her  skirt.  She  shook  her  gown  impatiently  and 
walked  on.  The  bramble  still  adhered  and  dragged. 

44  What  a nuisance,”  said  Arminell,  and  she  whisked  her 
skirt  round  and  endeavoured  to  pick  off  the  brier,  but  in- 
effectually. 

“ Let  me  assist  you,”  said  a voice ; and  in  a moment  a 
young  man  leaped  the  park  wall,  stepped  on  the  end  of  the 
bramble,  and  said,  “ Now,  if  you  please,  walk  on,  Miss 
Inglett.” 

Arminell  took  a few  steps  and  was  free.  She  turned, 
and  with  a slight  bow  said,  44  I thank  you,  Mr.  Saitren.” 
Then,  with  a smile,  “i  wish  I could  get  rid  of  all  tribula- 
tions as  easily.” 

“ And  find  them  whilst  they  cling  as  light.  You  are  per- 
haps not  aware  that  4 tribulation  ' derives  from  the  Latin 
tribulus , a bramble.” 

“ So  well  aware  was  I that  I perpetrated  the  joke  which 
you  have  spoiled  by  threshing  it.  Why  are  you  not  at 
church,  Mr.  Saitren,  listening  for  the  rector's  pronunciation 
of  the  Greek  names  of  St.  Paul's  acquaintances,  in  the 
hopes  of  detecting  a false  quantity  among  them  ? ” 

“ Because  Giles  has  a cold,  and  I stay  at  my  lady’s  desire 
to  read  the  psalms  and  lessons  to  him.” 

“ I wonder  whether  schooling  Giles  is  as  intolerable  as 
taking  Sunday  class  ; if  it  be,  you  have  my  grateful  sym- 
pathy.” 

44  Your  sympathy,  Miss  Inglett,  will  relieve  me  of  many  a 
tribulus  which  adheres  to  my  robe.” 

44  Is  Giles  a stupid  boy  and  troublesome  pupil  ? ” 

44  Not  at  all.  My  troubles  are  not  connected  with  my 
little  pupil.” 


i6 


ARMINELL. 


“ Class-taking  in  that  Sunday-school  is  a sort  of  mental 
garrotting,”  said  Arminell.  “ I wonder  whether  a teacher 
always  feels  as  if  his  brains  were  being  measured  for  a hat 
when  he  is  giving  instruction.” 

“ Only  when  there  is  non-receptivity  in  the  minds  of 
those  he  teaches,  or  tries  to  teach.  May  I ask  if  you  are 
going  to  church,  Miss  Inglett  ? ” 

“ I have  done  the  civil  by  attending  the  Sunday-school, 
and  the  articles  disapprove  of  works  of  supererogation.  I 
am  going  to  worship  under  the  fresh  green  leaves,  and  to 
listen  to  the  choir  of  the  birds — blackbird,  thrush  and  ouzel. 
I am  too  ruffled  in  temper  to  sit  still  in  church  and  listen 
to  the  same  common-places  in  the  same  see-saw  voice  from 
the  pulpit.  Do  you  know  what  it  is  to  be  restless,  Mr. 
Saltren,  and  not  know  what  makes  you  ill  at  ease?  To 
desire  greatly  something,  and  not  know  what  you  long 
after?” 

The  young  man  was  walking  beside  her,  a little  in  the 
rear,  respectfully,  not  full  abreast.  He  was  a pale  man 
with  an  oval  face,  dark  eyes  and  long  dark  lashes,  and  a 
slight  downy  moustache. 

“ I can  in  no  way  conceive  that  anything  can  be  lacking 
to  Miss  Inglett,”  he  said.  “ She  has  everything  to  make 
life  happy,  an  ideally  perfect  lot,  absolutely  deficient  in 
every  element  that  can  jar  with  and  disturb  tranquillity  and 
happiness.” 

“ You  judge  only  by  exterior  circumstances.  You  might 
say  the  same  of  the  bird  in  the  egg — it  fits  it  as  a glove,  it 
is  walled  round  by  a shell  against  danger,  it  is  warmed  by 
the  breast  of  the  parent,  why  should  it  be  impatient  of  its 
coiled-up,  comatose  condition  ? Simply  because  that  con- 
dition is  coiled-up  and  comatose.  Why  should  the  young 
sponge  ever  detach  itself  from  the  rock  on  which  it  first 
developed  by  the  side  of  the  great  absorbent  old  sponge  ? 
It  gets  enough  to  eat,  it  is  securely  attached  by  its  foot  to 


ARM  I NELL. 


17 


the  rock ; it  is  in  the  oceanic  level  that  suits  its  existence. 
Why  should  it  let  go  all  at  once  and  float  away,  rise  to  the 
surface  and  cling  elsewhere  ? Because  of  the  monotony  ot 
its  life  of  absorption  and  contraction,  and  of  its  sedentary 
habits.  But,  there — enough  about  myself.  I did  not  intend 
to  speak  of  myself.  You  have  brambles  clinging  to  you. 
Show  me  them,  that  I may  put  my  foot  on  them  and  free  you/’ 

“ You  know,  Miss  Inglett,  who  I am — the  son  of  the 
captain  of  the  manganese  mine,  and  that  his  wife  is  an  old 
lady’s  maid  from  the  park.  You  know  that  I was  a clever 
boy,  and  that  his  lordship  most  generously  interested  him- 
self in  me,  and  when  it  was  thought  I was  consumptive, 
sent  me  for  a couple  of  winters  to  Mentone.  You  know 
that  he  provided  for  my  schooling,  and  sent  me  to  the 
University,  and  then  most  kindly  took  me  into  Orleigh  as 
tutor  to  your  half-brother  Giles,  till  I can  resolve  to  enter 
the  Church,  when,  no  doubt,  he  will  some  day  give  me  a 
living.  All  that  you  know.  Do  not  suppose  I am  insen- 
sible to  his  lordship’s  kindness,  when  I say  that  all  this 
goodness  shown  me  has  sown  my  soul  full  of  brambles,  and 
made  me  the  most  miserable  of  men.” 

“But  how  so?”  Miss  Inglett  looked  at  him  with  un- 
feigned surprise.  “ As  you  said  to  me,  so  say  I to  you,  and 
excuse  the  freedom.  Mr.  Saltren  has  everything  to  make 
life  happy,  education,  comfortable  quarters,  kind  friends, 
an  assured  future,  an  ideally  perfect  lot,  absolutely  deficient 
in  disturbing  elements.” 

“ Now  you  judge  by  the  outside.  I admit  to  the  full  that 
Lord  Larnerton  has  done  everything  he  could  think  of  to 
do  me  good,  but  can  one  man  calculate  what  will  suit 
another  ? Will  a bog  plant  thrive  in  loam,  or  a heath  in 
clay?” 

“You  do  not  think  that  what  has  been  done  for  you  is 
well  done  ? ” 

“ I am  not  inclined  for  the  Church,  1 have  a positive 


t8 


ARMINELL. 


distaste  for  the  ministry,  and  yet  Lord  Lamerton  is  bent  on 
my  being  a parson.  If  I do  not  become  one,  what  am  I to 
be?  I cannot  go  back  to  the  life  whence  I have  been 
taken  ; I cannot  endure  to  be  with  those  who  hold  their 
knives  by  the  middle  when  eating,  and  drink  their  tea  out 
of  their  saucers,  and  take  their  meals  in  their  shirt  sleeves. 
Remember  I have  been  translated  from  the  society  to  which 
by  birth  I belong,  to  another  as  different  from  it  as  is  that 
of  Brahmins  from  Esquimaux ; I cannot  accommodate  my- 
self again  to  what  was  once  my  native  element.  Baron 
Munchausen,  in  one  of  his  voyages,  landed  on  an  island 
made  of  cream  cheese,  and  only  discovered  it  by  the  faint- 
ing of  a sailor  who  had  a natural  antipathy  to  cream 
cheese.  I have  come  ashore  on  an  island  the  substance 
of  which  is  altogether  different  from  the  soil  where  I was 
born.  I cannot  say  I have  an  ineradicable  distaste  for  it, 
but  that  at  first  I found  a difficulty  in  walking  on  it.  The 
specific  gravity  of  cream  cheese  is  other  than  that  of  clay. 
Now  that  I have  acquired  the  light  and  trippant  tread  that 
suits,  if  I return  to  my  native  land,  my  paces  will  be 
criticised,  and  regarded  as  affected,  and  myself  as  super- 
cilious, for  not  at  once  plodding  from  my  shoulders  like  a 
ploughboy  in  marl.  How  was  it  with  poor  Persephone 
who  spent  half  her  time  in  the  realm  of  darkness  and  half 
in  that  of  light?  She  carried  to  the  world  of  light  her 
groping  tentative  walk,  and  was  laughed  at,  and  when  in 
Hades,  she  trod  boldly  as  if  in  day  and  got  bruises  and 
bloody  noses.  Even  now  I am  in  a state  of  oscillation 
between  the  two  spheres,  and  am  at  home  in  neither, 
miserable  in  both.  When  I am  in  the  cream-cheese 
island  I never  feel  that  I can  walk  with  the  buoyancy  of  one 
born  on  cream  cheese.  I can  never  quite  overcome  the 
sense  of  inhaling  an  atmosphere  of  cheese,  never  quite  find 
the  buttermilk  squeezed  out  of  it  taste  like  aniseed 
water.” 


ARMINELL.  I9 

Arminell  could  not  refrain  from  a laugh.  “ Really,  Mr. 
Saltren,  you  are  not  complimentary  to  our  island.” 

“ Call  it  the  Isle  of  Rabat  la  Koum,  Turkish  Delight,  or 
Guava  Jelly — anything  luscious.  One  who  has  eaten  salt 
pork  and  supped  vinegar  cannot  at  once  tutor  his  palate  to 
everything  saccharine  to  a syrup.” 

“ But  what  really  troubles  you  in  the  Isle  of  Guava?” 

“ I am  not  a native  but  a stranger.  Your  tongue  is  by 
me  acquired.  There,  are  even  tones  and  inflexions  of  voice 
in  you  I cannot  attain  because  my  vocal  organs  got  set  in 
another  world.  A man  like  myself  taken  up  and  carried 
into  a different  sphere  by  another  hand  is  inevitably  so  self- 
conscious  that  his  self-consciousness  is  a perpetual  torment 
to  him.  According  to  the  apocryphal  tale,  an  angel  caught 
Habakkuk  by  the  hair  and  carried  him  with  a mess  of 
pottage  in  his  hands  through  the  air,  and  deposited  him  in 
Daniel's  den  of  lions.  Your  father  has  been  my  angel,  who 
has  taken  me  up  and  transported  me,  and  now  I am  in  a 
den  of  lordly  beasts  who  stalk  round  me  and  wonder  how  I 
came  among  them,  and  turn  up  their  noses  at  the  bowl  I 
carry  in  my  shaking  hands.” 

“ And  you  want  to  escape  from  us  lions  ?” 

“ Pardon  me — I am  equally  ill  at  ease  elsewhere,  I have 
associated  with  lions  till  I can  only  growlT” 

“ And  lash  yourself  raw,”  laughed  Arminell ; “you  know 
a lion  has  a nail  at  the  end  of  his  tail,  wherewith  he  goads 
himself.” 

“ I can  torture  myself — that  is  true,”  said  Saltren,  in  a 
disquieted  tone.  “ My  lord  will  give  me  a living  and  pro- 
vide for  me  if  I will  enter  the  Church,  but  that  is  precisely 
an  atmosphere  I do  not  relish — and  what  am  I to  do? 
I cannot  dig,  to  beg  I ani  ashamed.” 

“ Mr.  Saltren,  you  are  not  at  case  in  the  lion's  den,  but 
suppose  you  were  to  crawl  out  and  get  into  the  fields  ? ” 

“ I should  lose  my  way,  having  been  carried  by  the 


20 


ARMINELL. 


angel  out  of  my  own  country.  You  see  the  wretchedness 
of  my  position,  I am  uncomfortable  wherever  I am.  In  my 
present  situation  I imagine  slights.  Anecdotes  told  at 
table  make  me  wince,  jokes  fret  me.  Conversation  on 
certain  subjects  halts  because  I am  present.  Yet  I cannot 
revert  to  my  native  condition  ; that  would  be  deterioration, 
now  I have  acquired  polish,  and  have  progressed.” 

“ I should  not  have  supposed,  Mr.  Saltren,  that  you  were 
so  full  of  trouble. ” 

“No,  looking  on  a rose-pip,  all  smoothness,  you  do  not 
reckon  on  its  being  full  of  choke  within.  x\nd  now — Miss 
Inglett,  you  see  at  once  an  instance  of  my  lack  of  tact  and 
knowledge.  I am  in  doubt  whether  I have  done  well  to 
pour  out  my  pottle  of  troubles  in  your  ear,  or  whether  I 
behaved  like  a booby.” 

“ I invited  you  to  it.” 

“ Precisely,  but  in  the  language  of  the  Isle  of  Guava, 
words  do  not  mean  what  they  are  supposed  to  mean  in  the 
Land  of  Bacon.  I may  have  transgressed  those  invisible 
bounds  which  you  recognise  by  an  instinct  of  which  I am 
deficient.  There  are  societies  which  have  laws  and  signs  of 
fellowship  known  only  to  the  initiated.  You  belong  to  one, 
the  great  Freemasonry  of  Aristocratic  Culture.  You  all 
know  one  another  in  it,  how — is  inconceivable  to  me, 
though  I watch  and  puzzle  to  find  the  symbol ; and  your 
laws,  unwritten,  I can  only  guess  at,  but  you  all  know  them, 
suck  them  in  with  mother’s  milk.  I have  been  brought  up 
among  you,  but  I have  only  an  idea  of  your  laws,  and  as  for 
your  shibboleth — it  escapes  me  altogether.  And  now — I 
do  not  know  whether  I have  acted  rightly  or  wrongly  in 
telling  you  how  I am  situated.  I am  in  terror  lest  in  taking 
you  at  your  word  I may  not  have  grossly  offended  you,  and 
lest  you  be  now  saying  in  your  heait,  What  an  unlicked 
cub  this  is  ! how  ignorant  of  tact,  how  lacking  in  good 
breeding  ! He  should  have  passed  off  my  invitation 


ARMINELL. 


21 


with  a joke  about  brambles.  He  bores  me,  he  is  insuffer- 
able.” 

“ I assure  you — Mr.  Saltren ” 

“ Excuse  my  interrupting  you.  It  may  or  may  not  be  so. 
I daresay  I am  hypersensitive,  over-suspicious.” 

“ And  now,  Mr.  Saltren,  I think  Giles  is  waiting  for  his 
psalms  and  lessons.” 

“ You  mean — I have  offended  you.” 

“ Not  at  all.  I am  sorry  for  you,  but  I think  you  are — 
excuse  the  word — morbidly  sensitive.” 

“ You  cannot  understand  me  because  you  have  never 
been  in  my  land.  Baron  Munchausen  says  that  in  the 
moon  the  aristocrats  when  they  want  to  know  about  the 
people  send  their  heads  among  them,  but  their  trunks  and 
hearts  remain  at  home.  The  heads  go  everywhere  and  re- 
turn with  a report  of  the  wants,  thoughts  and  doings  of  the 
common  people.  You  are  the  same.  You  send  your 
heads  to  visit  us,  to  enquire  about  us,  to  peep  at  our  ways, 
and  search  out  our  goings,  but  you  do  not  understand  us, 
because  you  have  not  been  heart  and  body  down  to  finger- 
ends  and  toes  among  us,  and  of  us — you  cannot  enter  into 
our  necessities  and  prejudices  and  gropings.  But  I see,  I 
bore  you.  In  the  tongue  of  the  Isle  of  Guava  you  say  to 
me,  Giles  wants  his  psalms  and  lessons.  Which  being  in- 
terpreted means,  This  man  is  a bramble  sticking  to  my 
skirts,  following,  impeding  my  movements,  a drag,  a 
nuisance.  I must  get  rid  of  him.  I wish  you  a good 
morning.  Miss  Inglett ; and  holy  thoughts  under  the  green- 
wood tree ! ” 


CHAPTER  III. 


IN  THE  OWL’S  NEST. 

Arm  in  ell  Inglett  made  the  best  of  her  way  to  the  old 
quarry.  She  was  impatient  to  be  alone,  to  enjoy  the 
beautiful  weather,  the  spring  sights  and  sounds,  to  recover 
the  elasticity  of  spirit  of  which  she  had  been  robbed  by  the 
Sunday-school. 

But  would  she  recover  that  elasticity  after  her  conversa- 
tion with  the  young  tutor  ? What  he  had  said  was  true. 
He  was  a village  lad  of  humble  antecedents  who  had  been 
taken  up  by  her  father  because  he  was  intelligent  and 
pleasing,  and  commended  by  the  schoolmaster,  and  de- 
licate. Lord  and  Lady  Lamerton  were  ever  ready  to  do  a 
kindness  to  a tenant  or  inhabitant  of  Orleigh-  When  any 
of  the  latter  were  sick,  they  received  jellies  and  soups  and 
the  best  port  wine  from  the  park ; and  a deserving  child  in 
school  received  recognition,  and  a steady  youth  wras  sure  of 
a helping  hand  into  a good  situation. 

More  than  ordinary  favour  had  been  shown  to  this  young 
man,  son  of  Stephen  Saltren,  captain  of  the  manganese 
mine.  He  had  been  lifted  out  of  the  station  in  which  he 
had  been  born,  and  was  promoted  to  be  the  instructor  of 
Giles.  Arminell  had  always  thought  her  father’s  conduct 
towards  him  extraordinarily  kind,  and  now  her  eyes  were 
open  to  see  that  it  had  been  a cruel  kindness,  filling  the 
young  man’s  heart  with  a bitterness  that  contended  with  his 
gratitude. 


ARMINELL.  23 

It  would  have  been  more  judicious  perhaps  had  Lord 
Lamerton  sent  young  Jingles  elsewhere. 

J ingles,  it  must  be  explained,  was  not  the  tutor’s  Christian 
name.  He  had  been  baptized  out  of  compliment  to  his 
lordship,  Giles  Inglett,  and  Giles  Inglett  Saltren  was  his 
complete  name.  But  in  the  national  school  his  double 
Christian  name  had  been  condensed,  not  without  a flavour 
of  spite,  into  Jingles,  and  at  Orleigh  he  would  never  be 
known  by  any  other. 

The  old  lime-quarry  lay  a mile  from  the  park.  It  was  a 
picturesque  spot,  and  would  have  been  perfectly  beautiful 
but  for  the  heaps  of  rubbish  thrown  out  of  it  which  took 
years  to  decay,  and  which  till  decayed  were  unsightly. 
The  process  had,  however,  begun.  Indeed,  as  the  quarry 
had  been  worked  for  a century  prior  to  its  abandonment,  a 
good  deal  of  the  “ ramp,”  as  such  rubbish  heaps  are  locally 
called,  was  covered  with  grass  and  pines. 

Lord  Lamerton  had  done  his  best  to  disguise  the  naked- 
ness by  plantations  of  Scotch-larch  and  spruce,  which  took 
readily  to  the  loose  soil,  the  creeping  roots  grasped  the 
nodes  of  stone  and  crushed  them  as  in  a vice,  then  sucked 
out  of  them  the  nutriment  desired  ; the  wild  strawberry 
rioted  over  the  banks,  and  the  blackberry  brambles  dropped 
their  trailers  over  the  slopes,  laden  in  autumn  with  luscious 
fruit,  and  later,  when  flowers  are  scarce,  with  frost-touched 
leaves,  carmine,  primrose,  amber  and  purple. 

At  the  back  of  the  quarry  was  an  old  wood,  sloping  to 
the  south  and  breaking  off  sharply  at  the  precipice  where 
the  lime  rock  had  been  cut  away ; this  was  a wood  of  oaks 
with  an  undergrowth  of  bracken  and  male  fern,  and  huge 
hollies.  Here  and  there  large  venerable  Scotch  pines  rose 
above  the  rounded  surface  of  the  oak  tops,  in  some  places 
singly,  elsewhere  in  dark  clumps. 

The  rock  of  the  hill  was  slaty.  The  strata  ran  down  and 
made  a dip  and  came  to  the  surface  again,  and  in  the  lap 


24 


ARMINELL. 


lay  the  lime  stone.  When  the  quarry-men  had  deserted  the 
old  workings,  water  came  in  and  partly  filled  it,  to  the 
depth  of  forty  feet,  with  crystalline  bottle-green  water. 
Lord  Lamerton  had  put  in  trout,  and  the  fish  grew  there 
to  a great  size,  but  were  too  wary  to  be  caught.  The  side 
of  the  quarry  to  the  south  shelved  rapidly  into  the  water, 
and  the  fisherman  standing  on  the  slope  with  his  rode  was 
visible  to  the  trout.  They  were  too  cautious  to  approach, 
and  too  well  fed  with  the  midges  that  hovered  over  the 
water  to  care  to  bite. 

The  north  face  of  the  quarry — that  is  the  face  that 
looked  to  the  sun — was  quite  precipitous ; it  rose  to  the 
same  height  above  the  water  that  it  descended  beneath  it. 
Over  the  edge  hung  bushes  of  may  that  wreathed  the  gray 
rocks  in  spring  with  snow  as  of  the  past  winter,  and  in 
winter  with  scarlet  berries,  reminiscences  of  the  fire  of  lost 
summer.  Where  the  may-bushes  did  not  monopolise 
the  top,  there  the  heath  and  heather  hung  their  wiry 
branches  and  grew  to  brakes,  and  the  whortleberry — the 
vaccinium — formed  a fringe  of  glossy  leafage  in  June  and 
July  rich  with  purple  berries,  and  in  autumn  dotted  with 
fantastic  scarlet,  where  a capricious  leaf  had  caught  a 
touch  of  frost  that  had  spared  its  fellows. 

Down  a rocky  cranny  fell  a dribbling  stream,  the  drain- 
age of  the  wood  above  ; in  summer  it  was  but  a distillat  ion, 
sufficient  to  moisten  the  beds  of  moss  and  fern  that  rankly 
grew  on  the  hedges  beneath  it,  and  in  winter  never  attaining 
sufficient  volume  to  dislodge  the  vegetation  it  nourished. 

To  the  ledges  thus  moistened  choice  ferns  had  retreated 
as  to  cities  of  refuge  from  the  rapacity  of  collectors,  who 
rive  away  these  delicate  creatures  regardless  what  damage  is 
done  them,  indifferent  whether  they  kill  in  the  process,  con- 
sidering only  the  packing  of  them  off  in  hampers  lor  sale  or 
barter,  and  in  many  places  exterminating  the  rarest  and 
most  graceful  ferns ; but  here,  with  a gulf  of  deep  water 


ARM  1 NELL. 


25 


between  themselves  and  their  pursuers,  the  parsley  and 
maiden-hair  ferns  throve  and  tossed  their  fronds  in 
security  and  insolence. 

It  was  marvellous  to  see  how  plants  luxuriated  in  this  old 
abandoned  quarry,  how  they  seized  on  it,  as  squatters  on 
no-man’s  land,  and  multiplied  and  grew  wanton  and  revelled 
there ; how  the  hart’s  tongue  grew  there  to  enormous  size, 
and  remained,  unbrowned  by  frost,  throughout  the  winter ; 
how  the  crane’s  bill  bloomed  to  Christmas,  and  scented  the 
air  around,  and  the  strawberry  fruited  out  of  season  and 
reason. 

By  what  fatality  did  the  butterflies  come  there  in  such 
numbers  ? Was  it  that  they  delighted  in  dancing  over  the 
placid  mirror  admiring  themselves  therein  ? After  a few 
gyrations  they  inevitably  dipped  their  wings  and  were  lost ; 
perhaps  they  mistook  their  gay  reflections  for  inviting 
flowers,  or  perhaps,  like  Narcissus,  they  fell  in  love  with 
their  own  likenesses,  and,  stooping  to  kiss,  were  caught. 

In  summer  butterflies  were  always  to  be  found  hovering 
over  or  floating  on  the  surface,  but  they  hovered  or  floated 
only  for  a while,  presently  a ring  was  formed  in  the  glassy 
surface,  a ring  that  widened  and  multiplied  itself — the 
butterfly  was  gone,  and  a trout  the  better  for  it. 

About  six  feet  of  soil,  in  some  places  more,  in  others  less, 
appeared  in  sections  above  the  quarry-edge,  that  is  to  say, 
above  the  rock.  It  was  quite  possible  to  trace  the  primi- 
tive surface  of  the  pre-historic  earth,  much  indented ; but 
these  indentations  had  been  filled  in  by  accumulations  of 
humus,  so  that  the  upper  turf  was  almost  of  a level. 

Where  rock  ended  and  soil  began,  the  jackdaws  had 
worked  for  themselves  caves  and  galleries  in  which  they 
lived  a communal  life,  and  multiplied  prodigiously.  A pair 
of  hawks  bred  there  as  well,  spared  by  express  order  of 
Lord  Lamerton,  but  viewed  with  bitter  animosity  by  the 
keepers ; also  a colony  of  white  owls,  all  on  tolerable  terms, 


2 6 


ARM  I NELL. 


keeping  their  distances,  avoiding  social  intercourse,  very 
much  like  the  classes  among  mankind.  These  owls  also 
would  have  perished,  nailed  to  the  stable  doors  or  the 
keeper’s  wall,  had  not  his  lordship  extended  protection  to 
them  likewise.  The  kingfishers  in  the  Ore  were  becoming 
fewer,  the  keepers  waged  war  on  them  also,  because  they 
interfered  with  the  fish.  Lord  Lamerton  did  not  know  this, 
or  he  would  have  held  his  protecting  hand  over  their 
amethystine  heads. 

The  cliff  was  ribbed  horizontally,  the  harder  bands  of 
stratification  standing  forth  as  shelves  on  which  lodged  the 
crumbling  of  the  more  friable  beds,  and  the  leaves  that 
sailed  down  from  the  autumn  trees  above.  On  these  ledges 
a few  bushes  and  a stunted  Scotch  pine  grew.  The  latter 
grappled  with  the  rock,  holding  to  it  with  its  red-brown  roots 
like  the  legs  of  a gigantic  spider. 

At  the  west  end,  on  a level  with  the  topmost  shelf  of 
rock,  just  beneath  where  the  earth  buried  the  surface  of 
rock,  was  a cave  artificially  constructed,  at  the  time  when 
the  lime  was  worked,  as  a refuge  for  the  miners  when  blast- 
ing. 

Formerly  a path  had  existed  leading  to  this  cave,  but 
now  the  path  was  gone — scarce  a trace  survived.  The 
owls,  calculating  on  the  inaccessibility  of  the  grot  to  man, 
had  taken  possession  of  it,  and  bred  there. 

“ I am  glad  I came  here,”  said  Arminell.  “ In  this 
lovely,  lonely  spot  one  can  worship  God  better  than  in  a 
stuffy  church,  pervaded  with  the  smell  of  yellow-soap,  of 
clean  linen,  and  the  bergamot  of  oiled  heads,  and  the 
peppermint  the  clerk  sucks.  Here  one  has  the  air  full  of 
the  incense  of  the  woods,  the  pines  exuding  resin  in  the 
sun,  the  oak-leaves  exhaling  their  aroma,  and  the  ferns, 
fragrant  with  the  sea-like  stimulating  odour.  I am  weary  of  a 
that  hum-drum  which  constitutes  to  mamma  the  law  and  aim 
of  life.  We  may  be  all — as  Jingles  says — steeped  in  syrup, 


ARMINELL. 


27 


but  it  is  the  syrup  of  hum-drum  that  crystallizes  about  us, 
after  having  extracted  from  us  and  dismissed  all  individual 
flavour,  like  the  candied  fruit  in  a box,  where  currants, 
greengage,  apricot,  pear — all  taste  alike.  We  are  so 
saturated  with  the  same  syrup  that  we  all  lead  the  same 
saccharine  existences,  have  the  same  sweet  thoughts,  utter 
the  same  sugary  words,  and  have  not  an  individualizing 
smack  and  aroma  among  us.  Mamma  is  the  very  incarna- 
tion of  routine.  She  talks  to  her  guests  on  what  she  thinks 
will  interest  them,  got  up  for  the  occasion  out  of  magazines 
and  reviews.  These  magazines  save  her  and  the  like  of  her 
a world  of  trouble.  The  aristocrats  of  the  moon,  according 
to  Jingles,  sent  their  heads  forth  in  pursuit  of  knowledge; 
we  have  other  peculiar  heads  sent  to  us  stuffed  with  the 
forced  meat  of  knowledge,  and  wrapped  in  the  covers  of 
magazines.  So  much  for  my  mother.  As  for  my  father, 
he  neither  takes  in  nor  gives  vent  to  ideas.  He  presents 
prizes  at  schools,  opens  institutes,  attends  committees,  sits 
on  boards,  presides  at  banquets  ; occasionally  votes,  but 
never  speaks  in  the  House ; his  whole  circle  of  interests  is 
made  up  of  highways,  asylums  and  county  bridges.  In 
olden  times,  witches  drew  circles  and  set  about  them  skulls 
and  daggers,  toads  and  braziers,  and  within  these  circles 
wrought  necromancy.  My  fathers  circle  is  that  of  hum- 
drum, set  round  with  county  and  parochial  institutions,  with 
the  sanitary  arrangements  carefully  considered,  and  without 
the  magic  circle  he  works — nothing.” 

She  was  standing  at  the  west  end  of  the  quarry,  looking 
along  the  edge  of  the  precipice,  on  her  left. 

“ I wonder,”  she  mused,  “ whether  it  would  be  feasible  to 
reach  the  owls.” 

Filled  with  this  new  ambition,  she  thought  no  more  of 
the  shortcomings  of  her  father  and  step-mother. 

“ It  would  be  possible,  by  keeping  a cool  head,”  she 
said. 


28 


ARMINELL. 


“ I should  like  to  see  what  an  owl’s  nest  is  like,  and  in 
that  cave  1 can  pay  my  Sunday  devotions.” 

The  shelf  was  not  broad  enough  to  allow  of  any  one 
walking  on  it  unsupported  even  with  a cool  head. 

In  places,  indeed,  it  broadened,  and  there  lay  a cushion 
of  grass,  but  immediately  it  narrowed  to  a mere  indication. 
The  distance  was  not  great,  from  whence  Arminell  stood, 
to  the  cave,  some  twenty-five  feet,  and  a slip  would  entail  a 
fall  into  the  water  beneath. 

As  the  girl  stood  considering  the  possibilities  and  the 
difficulties,  she  noticed  that  streamers  of  ivy  hung  over  the 
edge  from  the  surface  of  the  soil.  She  could  not  reach 
these,  however,  from  where  she  stood.  Were  she  to  lay 
hold  of  them,  she  might  be  able  to  sustain  herself  whilst 
stepping  along  the  ledge,  just  as  if  she  were  supported  by  a 
pendent  rope. 

“I  believe  it  is  contrivable,”  she  said;  “I  see  where  the 
ivy  springs  at  the  root  of  an  elder  tree.  I can  find  or  cut  a 
crooked  stick,  and  thus  draw  the  strands  to  me.  How 
angry  and  indignant  mamma  would  be,  were  she  to  see  what 
I am  about.” 

She  speedily  discovered  a suitable  stick,  and  with  its 
assistance  drew  the  pendent  branches  towards  her.  Then, 
laying  hold  of  them,  she  essayed  an  advance  on  the  shelf. 
The  ivy-ropes  were  tough,  and  tenacious  in  their  rooting 
into  the  ground.  She  dragged  at  them,  jerked  them,  and 
they  did  not  yield.  She  grasped  them  in  her  left  hand,  and 
cautiously  stepped  forward. 

At  first  she  had  a ledge  of  four  inches  in  width  to  rest 
her  feet  on,  but  the  rock,  though  narrow,  was  solid,  and  by 
leaning  her  weight  well  on  the  ivy,  and  advancing  on  the 
tips  of  her  feet,  she  succeeded,  not  without  a flutter  of  heart, 
in  passing  to  a broad  patch  of  turf,  where  she  was  compara- 
tively safe,  and  where,  still  clinging  to  the  ivy,  she  drew  a 
long  breath. 


ARMINELL. 


29 


The  water,  looked  down  on  from  above,  immediately  be- 
neath her  was  blue  ; only  in  the  shadows,  where  it  did  not 
reflect  the  light,  was  it  bottle-green. 

There  was  not  a ripple  on  it.  She  had  not  dislodged  a 
stone.  She  turned  her  eyes  up  the  bank.  She  had  no  fear 
of  the  ropes  failing  her  ; they  would  not  be  sawn  through, 
because  they  swung  over  friable  earth,  not  jagged  rock. 

“ Allons,  avangons,”  said  Arminell,  with  a laugh.  She 
was  excited,  pleased  with  herself — she  had  broken  out  of 
the  circle  of  humdrum. 

# The  ledge  was  wide,  where  she  stood,  and  she  held  to 
the  rope  to  keep  her  from  giddiness,  rather  than  to  sustain 
her  weight. 

After  a few  further  steps,  she  paused.  The  shelf  failed 
altogether  for  three  feet,  but  beyond  the  gap  was  a terrace 
matted  with  cistus  and  ablaze  with  flower.  Arminell’s  first 
impulse  was  to  abandon  her  enterprize  as  hazardous  beyond 
reason,  but  her  second  was  to  dare  the  further  danger,  and 
make  a spring  to  the  firm  ground. 

“This  is  the  difference  between  me  and  my  lady,”  said 
Arminell.  “ She — and  my  lord  likewise — will  not  risk  a 
leap — moral,  social,  or  religious.” 

Then  with  a rush  of  impetuosity  and  impatience,  she 
swung  herself  across  the  gap,  and  landed  safely  on  the  bed 
of  cisius. 

“Would  Giles  ever  be  permitted  the  unconventional?” 
asked  Arminell.  “ What  a petit-maitre  he  will  turn  out.” 

The  Hon.  Giles  Inglett,  her  half-brother,  aged  ten,  was, 
as  already  said,  the  only  son  of  Lord  Lamerton  and  heir- 
apparent  to  the  barony. 

From  the  cistus  patch  she  crept,  still  clinging  to  the  ivy, 
along  the  ledge  that  now  bore  indications  of  the  path  once 
formed  on  it,  and  presently,  with  a sense  of  defiance  of 
danger,  allowed  herself  to  look  down  into  the  still  water. 

“ After  all,  if  I did  go  down,  it  would  not  be  very  dread- 


3° 


ARMINELL. 


fill — it  is  a reversed  heaven.  I would  spoil  my  gown,  but 
what  of  that  ? I have  my  allowance,  and  can  spoil  as  many 
gowns  as  I choose  within  my  margin.  I wonder — would  a 
fall  from  my  social  terrace  be  as  easy  as  one  from  this — and 
lead  to  such  trifling  and  reparable  consequences  ? ” 

Then  she  reached  the  platform  of  the  cave,  let  go  the 
ivy-streamers,  and  entered  the  grotto. 

The  entrance  was  just  high  enough  for  Arminell  to  pass 
in  without  stooping.  The  depth  of  the  cave  was  not  great, 
ten  feet.  The  sun  shone  in,  making  the  nook  cheerful  and 
warm.  Again  Arminell  looked  down  at  the  pond. 

“ How  different  the  water  seems  according  to  the  position 
from  which  we  look  at  it.  Seen  from  one  point  it  blazes 
with  reflected  light,  and  laughs  with  brilliance  ; seen  from 
another  it  is  infinitely  sombre,  light-absorbing,  not  light- 
reflecting.  It  is  so  perhaps  with  the  world,  and  poor 
Jingles  contemplates  it  from  an  unhappy  point.” 

She  seated  herself  on  the  floor  at  the  mouth  of  the  cave, 
and  leaned  her  back  against  the  side,  dangling  one  foot  over 
the  edge  of  the  precipice. 

“ The  best  of  churches,  the  most  inspiring  shrine  for  holy 
thoughts — O how  lucky,  I have  in  my  pocket  Gaboriau’s 
4 Gilded  Clique  ! ’ ” 

She  wore  a pretty  pink  dress  with  dark  crimson  velvet 
trimmings,  but  the  brightest  point  of  colour  about  Arminell 
was  the  blood-coloured  cover  of  the  English  version  of  the 
French  romance  of  rascality  and  crime. 

Arminell  had  lost  her  mother  at  an  age  at  which  she 
could  not  remember  her.  The  girl  had  been  badly  brought 
up,  by  governesses  unequal  to  the  task  of  forming  the  mind 
and  directing  the  conscience  of  a self-willed  intelligent  girl. 

She  had  changed  her  governesses  often,  and  not  invari- 
ably for  the  better.  < )ne  indulged  and  flattered  her,  and 
set  her  cap  at  Lord  Lamerton.  She  had  to  be  dismissed. 
Then  came  a methodical  creature,  eminently  conscientious, 


ARMINELL. 


31 


so  completely  a piece  of  animated  clockwork,  so  incapable 
of  acting  or  even  thinking  out  of  a set  routine,  that  she 
drove  Arrninell  into  sullen  revolt.  After  her  departure,  a 
young  lady  from  Girton  arrived,  who  walked  with  long 
strides,  wore  a pince-nez,  was  primed  with  slang,  and  held 
her  nose  on  high  to  keep  her  pince-nez  in  place.  She  was 
dismissed  because  she  whistled,  but  not  before  her  influence, 
the  most  mischievous  of  all,  had  left  its  abiding  impress  on 
the  character  of  the  pupil. 

This  governess  laughed  at  conventionalities,  such  as  are 
the  safeguards  of  social  life,  and  sneered  at  the  pruderies  of 
feminine  modesty.  Her  tone  was  sarcastic  and  sceptical. 

Then  came  a lady  of  good  manners,  but  of  an  infinitely 
feeble  mind,  who  wore  a large  fringe  to  conceal  a forehead 
as  retreating  as  that  of  the  Neanderthal  man.  Arrninell 
found  her  a person  of  infinite  promise  and  no  achievement. 
She  undertook  to  teach  Greek,  algebra,  and  comparative 
anatomy,  but  could  not  spell  “rhododendron.0 

When  Lord  Lamerton  had  married  again,  the  new  wife 
shrank  from  exercising  authority  over  the  wayward  girl,  and 
sought  to  draw  her  to  her  by  kindness.  But  Armined 
speedily  gauged  the  abilities  of  her  step-mother,  and  became 
not  actively  hostile,  but  indifferent  to  her.  Lady  Lamerton 
was  not  a person  to  provoke  hostility. 

Thus  the  girl  had  grown  up  with  mind  unformed,  judg- 
ment undisciplined,  feelings  impetuous  and  under  no  con- 
straint, and  with  very  confused  notions  of  right  and  wrong. 
She  possessed  by  nature  a strong  will,  and  this  had  been 
toughened  by  resistance  where  it  should  have  been  yielded 
to,  and  non-resistance  where  it  ought  to  have  been  firmly 
opposed. 

She  had  taken  a class  that  Sunday  in  the  school,  as  well 
as  on  the  preceding  Sunday,  only  at  Lady  Lamerton's 
urgent  request,  because  the  school-mistress  was  absent  on  a 
holiday. 


32 


ARMINELL. 


And  now  Armineli,  who  had  come  to  the  Owl’s  Nest  to 
pay  her  devotions  to  heaven,  performed  them  by  reading 
Gabor iau’s  u Gilded  Clique.” 


CHAPTER  IV. 


A PRAYER-RAFT. 

How  long  Arminell  had  been  resting  in  her  sunny  nook 
above  the  water,  reading  the  record  of  luxury,  misery  and 
vice,  she  did  not  know,  for  she  became  engrossed  in  the 
repulsive  yet  interesting  tale,  and  the  time  slipped  away, 
unperceived. 

She  was  roused  from  her  reading  by  the  thought  that 
suddenly  occurred  to  her,  quite  unconnected  with  the  story, 
that  she  had  let  go  the  strands  of  ivy  when  she  reached  the 
cave, — and  in  a moment  her  interest  in  the  “ Gilded 
Clique  ” ceased  and  she  became  alarmed  about  her  own 
situation.  In  her  delight  at  attaining  the  object  of  her 
ambition,  she  had  cast  aside  the  streamers  without  a 
thought  that  she  might  need  them  again,  and  they  had 
reverted  to  their  original  position,  beyond  her  reach.  She 
couid  not  venture  along  the  strip  of  turf  without  their  sup- 
1 ort,  and  she  had  not  the  crook  with  her,  wherewith  to 
rake  them  back  within  reach  of  her  hand. 

What  was  to  be  done?  The  charm  of  the  situation 
was  gone.  Its  novelty  had  ceased  to  please.  Her  elation 
at  her  audacity  in  venturing  on  the  “path  perilous”  had 
subsided.  To  escape  unassisted  was  impossible,  and  to 
call  for  assistance  useless  in  a place  so  rarely  visited. 

“ It  does  not  much  matter/'  said  Arminell ; “ I shall  not 
have  to  spend  a night  among  the  owls.  My  lady  wh.n  she 
misses  me  will  send  out  a search-party,  and  jingles  will 

c 


34 


ARM1NELL. 


direct  them  whither  to  go  for  me.  I will  return  to  my 
book.” 

But  Arminell  could  not  recover  her  interest  in  the  story 
of  the  “ Gilded  Clique.”  She  was  annoyed  at  her  lack  of 
prudence,  for  it  had  not  only  subjected  her  to  imprison- 
ment, but  had  placed  her  in  a position  somewhat  ridiculous. 
She  threw  down  the  book  impatiently  and  bit  her  lips. 

“ This  is  a lesson  to  me,”  she  said,  “ not  to  make  rash 
excursions  into  unknown  regions  without  retaining  a clue 
which  will  enable  me  to  retrace  my  steps  to  the  known. 
Caesar  may  have  been  a hero  when  he  burnt  his  ships,  but 
his  heroism  was  next  akin  to  folly.” 

She  sat  with  her  hands  in  her  lap,  with  a clouded  face, 
musing  on  the  chance  of  her  speedy  release.  Then  she 
laughed,  “ Like  Jingles,  I am  in  a wrong  position,  but  un- 
like him,  I am  here  by  my  own  foolhardiness.  He  wTas 
carried  by  my  lord  into  the  eaglet  nest ; like  Sinbad,  out 
of  the  valley  of  diamonds.  But  in  the  valley  of  diamonds 
there  were  likewise  serpents.  My  lord  swooped  down  on 
poor  Jingles,  caught  him  up,  and  deposited  him  in  his  nest 
on  the  heights  for  the  young  eagles  to  pull  to  pieces.” 

As  she  was  amusing  herself  with  this  fancy,  she  observed 
a man  by  the  waterside  at  the  east  or  further  end  of  the 
quarry,  engaged  in  launching  a primitive  raft  which  he 
drew  out  of  a bed  of  alder.  The  raft  consisted  of  a couple 
of  hurdles  lashed  together,  on  which  an  old  pig-sty  or 
stable  door  was  laid.  Upon  this  platform  the  man  stationed 
himself  when  the  raft  was  adrift,  and  with  a long  oar  sculled 
himself  into  the  middle  of  the  pond. 

What  was  his  object?  Had  he  seen  Arminell  and  was 
he  coming  to  her  assistance,  concluding  that  she  could  be 
rescued  in  no  other  fashion  ? On  further  observation 
Arminell  convinced  herself  that  he  had  not  seen  her  and 
knew  nothing  of  her  predicament  and  distress. 

What  was  he  about  to  do  ? To  fish  ? 


ARMINELL. 


35 


No — not  to  fish. 

When  the  raft  floated  in  the  middle  of  the  tarn,  the  man 
laid  down  his  oar,  knelt  on  the  board  and  began  to  pray. 

“ Why — ! ” exclaimed  the  girl  ; “ that  is  Captain  Sal- 
tren,  Jingles’  father.” 

Captain  Stephen  Saltren,  master  of  the  manganese  mine, 
was  a tall  man,  rather  gaunt  and  thin,  and  loosely  com- 
pacted at  the  joints,  with  dark  hair,  high  cheek-bones  and 
large,  deeply-sunken  eyes.  His  features  were  irregular  and 
ill  cut — yet  it  was  impossible  to  look  at  his  face  without 
being  impressed  with  the  thought  that  he  was  no  ordinary 
man.  His  hands,  though  roughened  and  enlarged  by 
work,  had  long  fingers,  the  indication  of  a nervous  tempera- 
ment. He  had,  moreover,  one  of  those  flexible  voices 
which  go  far  towards  making  a man  an  orator.  He  was 
unaware  of  the  value  of  his  organ,  he  was  devoid  of  skill  in 
using  it ; but  it  was  an  impressive  voice  when  used  in  times 
of  deep  emotion,  thrilling  those  who  heard  it  and  sweeping 
them  into  sympathy  with  the  speaker.  His  eyes  were  those 
of  a mystic,  looking  into  a far-off  sphere,  esteeming  the 
world  of  sense  as  a veil,  a painted  film,  disturbing,  imped- 
ing distinct  vision  of  the  sole  realities  that  existed  in  the 
world  beyond. 

There  was  velvety  softness  in  his  dark  eyes,  and  gentle- 
ness in  his  flexible  mouth,  and  yet  the  least  observant 
person  speaking  with  him  could  see  that  fire  was  ready  to 
leap  out  of  those  soft  eyes  on  provocation,  and  that  the 
mouth  could  set  with  rigid  determination  when  his  pre- 
judices were  touched. 

The  forehead  of  the  man  was  of  unusual  height.  He 
had  become  partly  bald,  had  shed  some  of  the  hair  above 
the  brow,  and  this  had  given  loftiness  to  his  forehead. 
There  were  hollows  between  his  temples  and  eye-brows; 
his  head  was  lumpy  and  narrow.  Altogether  it  was  an  ill- 
balanced,  but  an  interesting  head. 


36 


ARMINELL. 


The  mystic,  who  at  one  time  was  a prominent  feature  in 
religious  life,  has  almost  disappeared  from  among  us,  gone 
utterly  out  of  the  cultured  classes,  gone  from  among  the 
practical  mercantile  classes,  going  little  by  little  from  the 
lower  beds  of  life,  not  expelled  by  education  but  by  the 
materialism  that  penetrates  every  realm  of  human  existence. 
In  time  the  mystic  will  have  become  as  extinct  as  the  dodo, 
the  great  auk,  and  the  Caleb  Balderstones.  But  there  are 
mystics  still — especially  when  there  is  a strain  of  Celtic 
blood,  and  of  this  class  of  beings  was  Stephen  Saltren. 

The  captain  was  in  trouble,  and  whenever  he  was  in 
trouble  or  unhappy  he  had  recourse  to  prayer,  and  he 
prayed  with  most  disengagement  on  his  raft.  He  came  to 
the  quarry  when  his  mind  was  disturbed  and  his  heart  ^ 
agitated,  thrust  himself  out  from  land,  and  prayed  where  he 
believed  himself  to  be  unobserved  and  unlikely  to  be 
interrupted. 

The  cause  of  his  unrest  on  this  occasion  was  the  threat 
Lord  Lamerton  had  uttered  of  closing  the  manganese 
mine.  This  mine  had  its  adit,  crushing  mill  and  washing 
floors  at  but  a short  distance  from  the  great  house.  About 
fifteen  years  previous,  a mine  had  been  worked  on  the 
estate  that  yielded  so  richly,  that  with  the  profits,  Lord 
Lamerton  had  been  able  to  clear  off  some  mortgages. 
1'hat  lode  was  worked  out.  It  had  been  altogether  an 
extraordinary  one,  bunching,  as  it  is  termed,  into  a great 
mass  of  solid  manganese,  but  this  bunch,  when  worked 
out,  ended  without  a trace  of  continuance.  Then,  as  Lord 
Lamerton  was  assured,  another  came  to  the  surface  in  the 
hill  behind  the. mansion,  and  as  he  was  in  want  of  money, 
he  reluctantly  permitted  the  mine  to  be  opened  within  a 
rifle  shot  of  his  house.  The  workings  were  out  of  sight, 
hidden  by  a plantation,  and  manganese  mines  make  no 
great  heaps  of  unsightly  deposit ; nevertheless,  the  mine 
was  inconveniently  near  the  place.  It  did  not  yield  as  it 


ARMINELL. 


37 


had  promised,  or  as  the  experts  had  pretended  it  promised, 
and  Lord  Lamerton  had  lost  all  hope  of  making  money  by 
it.  The  vein1  was  followed,  but  it  never  “ bunched.  ” 
Foreign  competition  affected  the  market,  English  man- 
ganese was  under-sold,  and  Wheal  Perseverance,  as  the 
mine  was  called,  did  not  pay  for  the  “ working.”  Lord 
Lamerton  annually  lost  money  on  it.  Then  he  was  in- 
formed that  the  lode  ran  under  i rleigh  gardens,  and 
promised  freely  to  “bunch’'  under  the  mansion.  That  is 
to  say,  he  was  asked  to  allow  his  house  to  be  undermined. 
This  decided  his  lordship,  and  he  announced  that  the  mine 
must  be  abandoned.  Bunch  or  no  bunch,  he  was  not  going 
to  have  his  old  place  tunnelled  under  and  brought  about 
his  ears,  on  the  chance — the  chimerical  chance — of  a fe^ 
thousand  pounds’  worth  of  melal  being  extracted  from  the 
lock  on  which  it  stood. 

To  Lord  Lamerton  his  determination  seemed  right  and 
reasonable.  The  land  was  his.  The  royalties  were  his  ; 
the  house  was  his.  Every  man  may  do  what  he  will  with 
his  own.  If  he  has  a penny  in  his  pocket,  he  is  at  liberty 
to  spend  or  to  hoard  it  as  he  deems  best. 

But  this  decision  of  his  lordship  threatened  ruin  or 
something  like  ruin  to  a good  many  men  who  had  lived  on 
the  mine,  to  families  whereof  the  father  worked  under- 
ground, and  the  children  above  washing  ore  on  the  floors. 
The  cessation  of  the  mining  would  throw  all  these  out  of 
employ.  It  was  known  to  the  miners  that  manganese  mines 
were  everywhere  unprofitable,  and  were  being  abandoned. 
Wl.e  e then  should  they  look  for  employment? 

It  wras  open  to  bachelors  to  migrate  to  America,  but  what 
were  the  married  men  to  do?  The  captain  would  feel  the 
stoppage  oi  the  mine  most  of  all.  He  had  kept  the 
accounts  of  the  output,  had  paid  the  wages,  and  sold  the 
metal.  The  miners  might,  indeed,  take  temporary  work  on 
the  new  line  in  course  of  construction,  but  that  meant  a 


38 


ARMINELL. 


change  of  life  from  one  that  was  regular,  whilst  living  in 
settled  homes,  to  a wandering  existence,  to  makeshift 
housing,  separation  from  their  families,  and.  to  association 
with  demoralising  and  lawless  companions.  The  captain, 
however,  had  not  this  chance  within  reach.  He  could  not 
migrate,  because  he  possessed  the  little  house  in  which  he 
lived,  together  with  an  acre  of  garden  ground  beside  it, 
which  his  father  had  enclosed  and  reclaimed.  Moreover, 
he  was  not  likely  to  find  work  which  gave  him  a situation  of 
authority  and  superiority.  Instead  of  being  a master  he 
must  be  content — if  he  found  employ — to  work  as  a 
servant.  Hitherto,  he  had  engaged  and  dismissed  the 
hands,  now  he  must  become  a hand — and  be  glad  to  be 
one — liable  to  dismissal. 

It  was  natural  that  the  men,  and  especially  Saltren,  should 
feel  keenly  and  resent  the  closing  of  the  mine.  People  see 
things  as  they  affect  themselves,  and  appreciate  them  only 
as  they  relate  to  their  own  affairs.  I knew  a man  named 
Balhatchet  who  patented  a quack  medicine  which  he  called 
Ids  Heal-all,  and  this  man  never  could  be  brought  to  see 
that  the  Fall  of  Man  was  a disaster  to  humanity,  for,  he 
argued,  if  there  had  been  no  fall,  then  no  sickness,  and 
therefore  no  place  for  Balhatchet’s  Heal-all. 

According  to  “ The  Spectator,”  when  the  news  reached 
London  that  the  King  of  France  was  dead,  “ Now  we 
shall  have  fish  cheaper,”  was  the  greeting  the  tidings 
evoked.  The  miners  were  angry  with  the  bleachers,  be- 
cause they  used  German  manganese  instead  of  that  raised 
in  England,  and  angry  with  the  shippers  for  bringing  it 
across  the  sea.  But  above  all,  at  this  time,  they  were  inclined 
to  resent  the  action  of  Lord  Lamerton  in  closing  the  mine, 
for  by  so  doing  he  was,  as  they  put  it,  snatching  the  bread 
out  of  their  hungry  mouths,  whilst  himself  eating  cake. 
They  did  not  believe  that  undermining  the  great  house 
would  disturb  its  foundations.  That  was  a mere  excuse. 


ARMINELL. 


39 


How  could  his  lordship  be  sure  that  undermining  would 
crack  his  walls  till  he  had  tried  it  ? And — supposing  they 
did  settle,  what  of  that  ? They  might  be  rebuilt.  The 
men  had  been  told  that  his  lordship  had  painted  the  north 
wall  with  impenetrable,  anti-damp  preparation,  because  on 
that  side  of  the  house  the  paper  in  the  rooms  became 
mildewed.  If  there  was  damp,  what  better  means  of  drying 
the  house  than  undermining  it?  Why  should  his  lordship 
send  many  pounds  ^ to  London  for  damp-excluding  paint, 
when  by  spending  the  money  in  Orleigh  he  might  so  drain 
the  soil  through  a level  under  the  foundations  that  no 
moisture  could  possibly  rise  ? 

Lord  Lamerton  had  made  a great  deal  of  money  out  of 
the  first  mine.  He  had  provided  good  cottages  for  his 
tenants,  the  workmen,  but  so  much  the  worse  if  they  were  to 
be  turned  out  of  them. 

The  mine  had  been  christened  Wheal  Perseverance,  and 
what  does  perseverance  mean,  but  going  on  with  what  is 
begun  ? If  his  lordship  had  not  intended  to  carry  on  the 
mine  indefinitely,  he  should  not  have  called  it  Wheal  Per- 
severance. When  he  gave  it  that  name  he  as  much  as  pro- 
mised to  keep  it  going  always,  and  to  stop  it  now  nas  a 
breach  of  faith.  Was  it  endurable  that  Lord  Lamerton 
should  close  the  mine  ? Who  had  put  the  manganese  in 
the  rock  ? Was  it  Lord  Lamerton  ? What  had  the  metal 
been  run  there  for  but  for  the  good  of  mankind,  that  it 
might  be  extracted  and  utilized?  God  had  carried  the  lode 
under  Orleigh  Park  before  a Lamerton  was  thought  of. 
Was  it  justifiable  that  one  man,  through  his  aristocratic 
selfishness,  should  interfere  with  the  public  good,  should 
contravene  the  arrangements  of  the  Creator?  In  the 
gospel  the  man  who  hid  his  talent  was  held  up  to  condem- 
nation, but  here  was  a nobleman  who  sat  down  upon  the 
talent  belonging  to  a score  of  hard-working  and  necessitous 
men,  desirous  of  extracting  it,  and  refused  to  permit  them 


4o 


ARMINELL. 


to  do  what  God  had  commanded.  Was  there  not  a fable 
about  a dog  in  the  manger  ? Was  not  his  lordship  a very 
dog  in  a manger,  neither  using  the  manganese  himself,  nor 
allowing  those  who  desired  to  dig  it  out  to  put  a pick  into 
the  ground  and  disturb  it  ? Maybe  there  was  a “ bunch  ” 
under  the  state  diawing-room  large  enough  to  support  a 
score  of  families  foi  three  years,  the  men  in  meat  and 
broadcloth,  the  women  in  velvets  and  jockey-club  essence. 
Lord  Lamerton  and  Lady  Lamerton  begrudged  them  these 
necessaries  of  life.  The  laws  of  the  land,  no  doubt,  were 
on  the  side  of  the  nobleman,  but  the  law  of  God  on  that  of 
the  labourer.  The  laws  were  imposed  on  the  people  by  a 
House  of  Lords  and  the  Queen,  and  therefore  they  would 
agitate  for  the  abolition  of  an  hereditary  aristocracy  and 
keep  their  hats  on  when  next  the  National  Anthem  was 
played. 

There  were  more  mixed  up  in  the  matter  than  his  lord- 
ship.  Lord  Lamerton  did  nothing  without  consulting  the 
agent,  Mr.  Macduff.  The  abandonment  of  the  mine  was 
Macduff’s  doing.  The  reason  was  known  to  every  one — 
Macduff  was  under  the  control  of  his  wife.  Mrs.  Macduff 
was  offended  because  the  school  children  did  not  curtsey 
and  touch  their  caps  when  she  drove  through  the  village  in 
her  victoria. 

The  rector  also  had  a finger  in  this  particular  pie.  He 
bore  a spite  against  Captain  Saltren,  because  the  captain 
was  not  a churchman.  Not  a word  had  been  said  about 
stopping  the  lime-quarry.  Oh  no  ! of  course  not,  for  Cap- 
tain Tubb  taught  in  the  Sunday-school.  If  Stephen  Saltren 
had  taken  a class,  nothing  would  have  been  said  about  dis- 
continuing the  mine.  Therefore  the  miners  resolved  to  join 
the  Liberation  Society  and  make  an  outcry  for  the  dis- 
establishment of  the  Church. 

So  the  men  argued — we  will  not  say  reasoned,  and  that 
is  no  caricature  of  their  arguments,  not  reasonings,  in  sii^la-' 


ARMINELL. 


41 


cases.  The  uneducated  man  is  always  a suspicious  man. 
He  never  believes  in  the  reasons  alleged,  these  are  disguises 
to  hide  the  true  springs  of  action. 

When  his  lordship  was  told  how  incensed  the  minevs 
were,  he  made  light  of  the  matter.  Pshaw  i fiddlesticks  ! 
He  was  not  going  to  have  his  dear  old  Elizabethan  home 
in  which  he  was  born,  and  which  had  belonged  to  the 
Ingletts  before  they  were  peers,  tumbled  about  his  ears  like 
a pack  of  cards,  just  because  there  was  a chance  of  finding 
three  ha’porth  of  manganese  under  it.  The  mine  had  been 
a nuisance  for  some  years.  The  standing  up  to  their  knees 
in  water  had  been  injurious  to  the  health  of  the  girls,  many 
of  whom  had  died  of  decline.  Wheal  Perseverance  was  a 
bad  school  of  morals,  lads  and  lasses  worked  together  there, 
and  necessarily  in  a semi-nude  condition.  The  school- 
master and  the  Government  Inspector  had  complained  that 
the  attendance  at  school  was  bad  and  irregular,  for  the  chil- 
dren could  earn  money  on  the  washing  floors,  and  did  not 
see  the  fun  of  sitting  at  desks  earning  nothing. 

The  miners  had  been  a constant  source  of  annoyance, 
they  were  all  of  them  poachers,  and  had  occasional  fights 
with  the  keepers.  The  presence  of  the  miners  entailed  the 
retention  of  extra  keepers  to  protect  the  game,  so  that  in 
this  way  also  the  mine  proved*  expensive.  Besides,  the 
manganese  dirtied  the  stream  that  flowed  through  the 
grounds,  made  it  of  a hideous  tawny  red  colour,  and  spoiled 
the  fishing  not  only  in  it,  but  in  the  river  Ore,  into  which  it 
discharged  its  turbid  waters. 

The  miners  were  all  radicals  and  dissenters,  and  he  would 
be  glad  to  be  rid  of  them. 

So  every  question  has  its  two  sides,  equally  plausible. 

Stephen  Saltren  had  been  from  boyhood  shy,  silent  and 
self-contained.  His  only  book  of  study  was  the  Bible,  and 
his  imagination  was  fired  by  its  poetry  and  its  apocalyptic 
visions.  His  thoughts  were  cast  in  Scriptural  forms  ; his 


42 


ARMINELL. 


early  companions  had  nick-named  him  the  Methodist  Par- 
son. But  Saltren  had  never  permanently  attached  him- 
self to  any  denomination.  The  Church  was  too  ceremoni- 
ous, he  turned  from  her  in  dislike.  He  rambled  from  sect 
to  sect  seeking  a dwelling-place,  and  finding  only  a tempor- 
ary lodging.  For  a while  he  was  all  enthusiasm,  and 
flowed  with  grace,  then  the  source  of  unction  ran  dry,  and 
he  attributed  the  failure  to  deficiencies  in  the  community 
he  had  joined,  left  it  to  recommence  the  same  round  of 
experiences  and  encounter  the  same  disappointments  in 
another.  As  a young  man  he  had  worked  with  his  father 
at  the  original  mine,  Wheal  Eldorado,  and  on  his  father’s 
death,  had  continued  to  live  in  the  house  his  father  had 
built  on  land  he  had  appropriated.  He  continued  to  work 
at  Eldorado,  became  captain  in  his  father’s  room,  and  when 
Eldorado  was  exhausted,  directed  the  works  of  Wheal  Per- 
severance. Every  one  spoke  highly  of  Stephen  Saltren,  as 
a steady,  conscientious  man,  truthful  and  of  unimpeachable 
honesty.  But  no  one  quite  understood  Saltren,  he  made 
no  friends,  he  sought  none ; and  he  left  on  all  with  whom 
he  came  in  contact,  the  impression  that  he  was  a man  of 
very  abnormal  character. 

Whilst  Adam  slept,  the  help-mate  was  formed  and  set  by 
him.  When  he  opened  his  eyes,  it  was  with  a start  and 
with  something  like  terror  that  he  saw  Eve  at  his  side.  He 
could  not  but  believe  he  was  still  a prey  to  dreams.  Ever 
since  the  first  meeting  love  has  come  as  a surprise  on  the 
sons  of  Adam,  has  come  on  them  when  least  prepared  to 
resist  its  advance,  and  has  never  been  regarded  in  the  first 
moment  as  a grave  reality. 

Thousands  of  years  have  rolled  their  course,  and  love 
has  remained  unchanged,  like  the  rose  and  the  nightingale, 
neither  developing  forward  to  some  higher  lorm  of  activity, 
nor  degenerating  to  one  less  generous. 

The  diseases  pass  through  endless  modifications,  varying 


ARMINELL. 


43 


in  phenomena  with  every  generation,  changing  their 
symptoms,  disguising  their  nature,  but  the  fever  of  love  is 
always  one  and  runs  the  identical  course.  Enthusiasts 
have  sought  to  stifle  it  in  hair-cloth,  and  reduce  its  virulence 
by  vaccination  with  foreign  matter,  but  it  resists  every  effort 
to  subdue  it.  Society  has  attempted  to  discipline  it  and 
turn  it  to  practical  ends.  But  love  is  a fire  which  will  con- 
sume all  bonds  and  snap  them,  and  is  only  finally  ex- 
tinguished with  a handful  of  clay,  when  the  breast  in  which 
it  has  burnt  is  reduced,  ashes  to  ashes,  and  dust  to 
dust. 

Unexpectedly,  unaccountably,  the  fever  laid  hold  of 
Stephen  Saltren.  He  lost  his  heart  to  Marianne  Welsh, 
who  had  been  servant  at  the  park,  a handsome  girl,  with 
refinement  of  manner  beyond  her  class. 

He  courted  her  for  a month.  She  had  left  the  great 
house  for  some  unexplained  reason  ; some  folks  said  she 
was  a liar,  and  had  been  dismissed  because  found  out  to  be 
unreliable ; others  said  she  left  because  she  was  so  good- 
looking  that  the  rest  of  the  maids  were  jealous  of  her  and 
worried  her  out  of  her  situation. 

Whilst  courting  Marianne,  Saltren  was  a charmed  man. 
His  vision  of  the  spiritual  world  became  clouded,  and  he 
was  not  sensible  of  the  loss.  A new  world  of  unutterable 
delight,  and  of  ideal  beauty,  clothed  in  rainbow  colours  and 
bathed  in  brilliant  light,  had  unfurled  before  him  and  now 
occupied  his  perspective. 

The  acquaintanceship  led  at  once  to  marriage.  There 
was  no  delay.  There  was  no  occasion  for  delay.  Saltren 
possessed  his  own  house  and  land,  and  was  in  receipt  of  a 
good  salary.  The  marriage  ensued ; and  then  another 
change  came  over  Saltren.  The  new  world  of  love  and 
beauty,  so  real,  faded  as  the  mirage  of  the  desert,  disclos- 
ing desert  and  dead  bones. 

Seven  months  after  the  marriage,  Marianne  became  the 


44 


ARMINELL. 


mother  of  a boy,  and  only  Stephen  knew  that  the  son  was 
not  his  own.  A cruel  act  of  treachery  had  been  committed. 
Marianne  had  taken  his  name,  not  because  she  loved  him, 
but  to  hide  her  own  dishonour. 

When  he  knew  how  he  had  been  deceived,  a barb 
entered  Stephen’s  heart,  and  he  was  never  after  free  from  its 
rankle.  A fire  was  kindled  in  his  veins  that  smouldered 
and  gnawed  its  way  outwards,  certain  eventually  to  flare 
forth  in  some  sudden  and  unexpected  outbreak.  He  be- 
came more  reserved,  more  dreamy,  more  fantastic  than 
before  his  marriage,  and  more  of  an  enigma  to  those  with 
whom  he  associated. 

“ Let  the  babe  be  christened  Giles  Inglett,”  said  Mari- 
anne, “ that  has  a distinguished  sound,  none  of  your  vulgar 
Jacks,  and  Harrys,  and  Bills — besides,  it  will  be  taken  as  a 
compliment  at  the  park,  and  may  be  of  benefit  to  the  little 
fellow  afterwards.’’ 

Saltren  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

“ It  is  your  child,  call  it  what  you  will.” 

The  boy  was  brought  up  by  Stephen  as  his  son,  none 
doubted  the  paternity.  But  Saltren  never  kissed  the  infant, 
never  showed  the  child  love,  took  no  interest  in  the  wel- 
fare of  the  youth.  To  his  wife  he  was  cold,  stern  and 
formal.  He  allowed  her  to  see  that  he  could  never  forgive 
the  wrong  that  had  been  done  him. 

So  much  for  the  past  of  Captain  Stephen  Saltren.  Now, 
on  this  spring  Sunday  morning,  Arminell  Inglett  watched 
the  man  at  his  devotions  on  the  raft.  She  allowed  him  to 
proceed  with  them  undisturbed  for  some  time;  but  she 
could  not  spend  the  whole  day  in  the  owl’s  nest.  Saltren 
must  be  roused  from  his  spiritual  exercises  and  raptures. 
He  must  assist  her — he  must  surely  have  ropes  at  his  dis- 
posal, and  could  call  men  to  help  in  her  release. 

She  called  him  by  name 

Her  call  was  re-echoed  from  the  rocky  walls  of  the 


ARMINELL.  45 

quarry.  Saltren  looked  up,  looked  about,  and  remained 
expectant,  with  uplifted  hands  and  eyes. 

Then,  half  impatiently,  half  angrily,  Arminell  flung  the 
crimson  covered  novel  of  Gaboriau  far  out  into  the  air,  to 
fall  on  or  near  Saltren,  in  the  hopes  of  directing  his  atten- 
tion to  her  position. 

He  saw  the  fluttering  book  in  the  air,  and  stretched 
forth  his  hands  to  receive  it.  The  book  whirled  about, 
expanded,  turned  over,  shut,  and  shot  down  into  the  pond, 
where  it  floated  one  moment  with  its  red  cover  upwards. 
Captain  Saltren  was  engrossed  in  interest  to  see  and  to 
secure  the  book  ; he  sculled  towards  it,  stooped  over  the 
water  to  grasp  it,  lost  balance,  and  fell  forward,  and  in  his 
effort  to  recover  the  volume  and  save  himself  from  immer- 
sion, touched  it,  and  the  book  went  under  the  raft  and 
disappeared. 

The  attempt  to  attract  attention  to  herself  had  failed,  and 
Arminell  uttered  an  exclamation  of  vexation. 


CHAPTER  V. 


INFECTION. 

A touch  on  Arminell’s  shoulder  made  her  turn  with  a start. 
She  saw  behind  her  an  old  woman  who  had  approached 
along  the  ledge,  unobserved,  supporting  herself  by  the 
strands  of  ivy  in  the  same  manner  as  herself.  Arminell 
had  been  standing  leaning  against  the  rock,  her  eyes  and 
attention  occupied  with  Captain  Saltren,  and  so  had  not 
noticed  the  stealthy  progress  of  the  woman. 

44  See  here,  miss,”  said  the  new  arrival,  44 1 have  come  to 
help  you  in  the  proper  way.  Lord  love  y’  what’s  the  good 
o’  calling  to  that  half  mazed  man  there  ? By  the  road  you 
came,  by  that  you  must  return.  Here  be  ivy  bands  enough 
for  both.  Take  half  yourself  and  follow  me,  or  if  you’d 
rather,  go  on  before.  Don’t  look  at  your  feet,  look  ahead.” 

44  Who  are  you  ? ” asked  Arminell  in  surprise. 

44  Won’t  you  accept  help  till  you  know  who  she  is  that 
offers  it?”  asked  the  woman  with  a laugh.  44  Do  you 
object  to  lean  on  a stick  till  you  know  the  name  of  the  tree 
whence  it  was  cut?  I’m  not  ashamed  of  what  I’m  called, 
I’m  Patience  Kite,  that  lives  in  the  thatched  cottage  under 
the  wood  at  the  end  of  the  quarry.  I saw  how  you  came 
to  this  place,  and  how  you  have  thrown  your  book  at  the 
captain,  because  he  looked  every  way  but  the  right  one 
when  he  was  called.  There’s  perversity  in  all  things,  miss, 
as  you’ll  discover  when  you’re  a bit  older.  Them  as  we  call 


ARMINELL.  47 

to  come  to  us  don't  look  our  way,  and  them  as  we  ain't 
thinking  about  offer  us  the  helping  hand." 

Arminell  took  the  proffered  ivy  ropes,  and  began  to  re- 
trace her  steps  along  the  face  of  the  precipice,  but  was 
unable,  whilst  so  doing,  to  res’st  the  temptation  to  look  and 
see  if  Captain  Saltren  had  as  yet  observed  her,  but  she  saw 
that  he  was  still  diving  his  arms  into  the  water  after  the 
sunken  volume,  and  was  unconscious  that  any  one  watched 
him. 

“ Hold  to  my  gown,  it  is  coarse,  but  the  better  to  stay 
you  with,"  said  the  woman.  “ Do  not  look  round,  keep 
fast  with  the  right  hand  to  the  ivy,  and  clutch  me  with  your 
left.  What  a comical  bringing  together  of  them  whom  God 
has  put  asunder  that  would  be  if  you  and  I were  to  be 
found  in  death  grappled  together  in  the  quarry  pond ! ” 
Slowly,  cautiously,  Arminell  followed  her  guide  and 
finally  reached  the  firm  bank. 

“ Now  then,"  said  Patience,  “ you  can  come  and  rest  in 
my  cottage.  It  is  hard  by.  I'll  wipe  a chair  for  you.  As 
you  wanted  to  see  the  owl’s  nest,  perhaps  you  mayn't  object 
to  visit  the  house  of  the  white  witch." 

Arminell  hesitated.  She  was  inclined  to  return  home, 
but  felt  that  it  would  seem  ungracious  to  decline  the  offer 
of  the  woman  who  had  assisted  her  out  of  her  difficulties. 

“ Look  yonder,"  mocked  Patience,  pointing  to  the  water, 
“ the  captain  is  at  his  prayers  again.  I wonder,  now,  what 
he  took  that  book  to  be  you  throwed  at  him,  and  your  voice 
to  be  that  called  him  ? He’ll  make  a maze  o’  queer  fancies 
out  of  all,  I reckon." 

“ Does  Mr.  Saltren  often  come  here  ? " 

“When  the  shoe  pinches." 

“ I do  not  understand  you,  Mrs.  Kite.” 

“ No,  I’ll  be  bound  you  do  not.  How  can  you  under- 
stand the  pinching  and  pain  o’  others,  when  you've  never 
felt  pinch  or  pain  yourself  ? Such  as  lie  a-bed  in  swans’ 


48 


ARMINELL. 


down  wonder  what  keeps  them  awake  that  couches  on 
nettles.” 

“ But  what  has  this  to  do  with  Captain  Saltren  and  his 
prayers  ? ” 

“ Everything,”  answered  the  woman  ; “ you  don't  ask  for 
apples  when  your  lap  is  full.  Those  that  suffer  and  are  in 
need  open  their  mouths.  But  whether  aught  comes  to 
them  for  opening  their  mouths  is  another  matter.  The 
cuckoo  in  my  clock  called,  and  as  none  answered,  he  gave 
it  up— so  did  I.” 

There  was  a savagery  in  the  woman's  tone  that  startled 
Arminell,  and  withal  a strangeness  in  her  manner  that 
attracted  her  curiosity. 

“ I will  go  withjou  to  the  cottage  for  a moment,”  she 
said. 

“This  is  the  way,”  answered  Patience,  leading  through 
the  brake  of  fern  under  the  oaks. 

Patience  Kite  was  a tall  woman,  with  black  hair  just 
turning  grey,  a wrinkled  face,  and  a pointed  chin.  She  had 
lost  most  of  her  teeth,  and  mouthed  her  words,  but  spoke 
distinctly.  Her  nose  was  like  the  beak  of  a hawk  ; her  eyes 
were  grey  and  wild  under  heavy  dark  brows.  When  she 
spoke  to  Arminell  she  curtsied,  and  the  curtsey  of  the  gaunt 
creature  was  grotesque.  The  girl  could  not  read  whether  it 
were  intended  as  respectful,  or  done  in  mockery.  Her 
dress  was  lidy,  but  of  the  poorest  materials,  much  patched. 
She  wore  no  cap  ; her  abundant  hair  was  heaped  on  her 
head,  but  was  less  tidy  than  her  clothing ; it  was  scattered 
about  her  face  and  shoulders. 

Her  cottage  was  close  at  hand,  very  small,  built  of  quarry- 
stone  that  corroded  rapidly  with  expo  ure — the  air  reduced 
it  to  black  dust.  The  chimney  threatened  to  fall  ; it  was 
gnawed  into  on  the  south-west  side  like  a bit  of  mice-eaten 
cheese.  The  thatch  was  rotten,  the  rafters  were  exposed 
and  decayed.  The  walls,  bulged  out  by  the  thrust  of  the 


ARMINELL.  49 

bedroom  floor-joists,  were  lull  of  rents  and  out  of  the  per- 
pendicular. 

The  place  looked  so  ruinous,  so  unsafe,  that  Arminell 
hesitated  to  enter. 

The  door  had  fallen,  because  the  frame  had  rotted  away. 
Patience  led  her  guest  over  it  into  the  room.  There  every- 
thing was  tidy  and  clean.  Tidiness  and  cleanliness  were 
strangely  combined  with  ruin  and  decay.  In  the  window 
was  a raven  in  a cage. 

“ This  house  is  dangerous  to  live  in,”  said  Arminell. 
“ Does  Mr.  Macduff  not  see  that  repairs  are  done  ? It  is 
unfit  for  human  habitation.” 

“ Macduff ! ” scoffed  Mrs.  Kite.  “ Do  y5  think  that  this 
house  belongs  to  his  lordship  ? It  is,  mine,  and  because  it 
is  mine,  they  cannot  force  me  to  leave  it,  and  to  go  into  the 
workhouse.” 

“ But  you  are  in  peril  of  your  life  here,  the  chimney  might 
fall  and  bury  you  any  windy  night.  The  roof,, might  crash  in.” 

“ So  the  sanitary  officer  says.  He  has  condemned  the 
house.” 

" Then  you  are  leaving  ? ” 

“No.  He  has  done  his  duty.  But  I am  not  going  to 
turn  out.” 

“Yet  surely,  Mrs.  Kite,  if  the  place  is  dangerous  you  will 
not  be  allowecf  to  remain  ? ” 

“ Who  can  interfere  with  me  ? The  board  of  guardians 
have  applied  to  the  petty  sessions  for  an  order,  and  it  has 
been  granted  and  served  on  me.” 

u Then,  of  course,  you  go  ? ” 

“No;  they  can  order  me  to  go,  but  they  cannot  force 
me  to  go.  The  policeman  says  they-  can  fine  me  ten 
shillings  a day  if  I remain  and  defy  them.  Let  them  fine 
me.  They  must  next  get  an  order  to  distrain  to  get  the 
amount.  They  may  sell  my  furniture,  but  they  won’t  be 
able  to  turn  me  out.” 


D 


ARMINELL. 


50 

“ But  why  remain  in  peril  of  your  life?  You  will  be 
crushed  under  the  ruins  some  stormy  night.” 

“ Why  remain  here  ? Because  I’ve  nowhere  else  to  go 
to.  I will  not  go  into  the  union,  and  I will  not  live  in  a 
house  with  other  folk.  I am  accustomed  to  be  alone.  I 
am  not  afraid.  Here  I am  at  liberty,  and  I will  here  die 
rather  than  lose  my  freedom.” 

“ You  cannot  even  shut  your  door.” 

“ I do  not  need  to.  I fear  nothing,  not  the  sanitary 
officer;  he  can  do  nothing.  Not  the  board  of  guardians  ; 
they  can  do  nothing.  Not  the  magistrates  ; they  cannot 
touch  me.”1 

“ Have  you  anything  to  live  on  ? ” 

“ I pick  up  a trifle.  I bless  bad  knees  and  stop  the  flow 
of  blood,  and  show  where  stolen  goods  are  hidden,  and  tell 
who  has  ill-wished  any  one.” 

“ You  receive  contributions  from  the  superstitious.” 

“ I get  my  living  my  own  way.  There  is  room  for  all  in 
the  world.” 

Arminell  seated  herself  in  a chair  offered  her,  and  looked 
at  the  raven  in  its  cage,  picking  at  the  bars. 

Silence  ensued  for  a few  minutes.  Patience  folded  her 
bare  brown  arms  across  her  bosom,  and  standing  opposite 
the  girl,  studied  her  from  head  to  foot. 

“The  Honourable  Miss  Inglett  !”  she  said,  and  laughed. 

Why  are  you  the  honourable,  and  I the  common  person  ? 
Why  are  you  a lady,  at  ease,  well-dressed,  and  I a poor  old 

1 The  reader  may  think  this  an  impossible  case.  At  the  present 
moment  an  old  woman  in  the  author’s  immediate  neighbourhood  is 
thus  defying  all  the  authorities.  They  have  come  to  a dead  lock. 
She  has  resisted  orders  to  leave  for  three  years,  and  is  in  hourly  peril 
of  her  life.  The  only  person  who  could  expel  her  is  the  landlord,  who 
happens  to  be  poor,  and  who  says  that  he  cannot  rebuild  the  cottage  ; 
the  woman  who  has  it  on  a lease  is  bound  to  deliver  it  over  at  the  end 
of  the  time  in  good  order,  but  she  1,  without  the -means  to  put  the 
cottage  in  order.  Next  equinoctial  gale  may  see  her  crushed  to  death. 


ARMINELL. 


5* 


creature  badgered  by  sanitary  officers  and  board  of  guar- 
dians, and  magistrates,  and  by  my  lord,  the  chairman  at 
the  petty  sessions  ? ” 

Arminell  looked  wonderingly  at  her,  surprised  at  her 
strange  address. 

“ Because  the  world  is  governed  by  injustice.  What  had 
you  done  as  a babe,  that  you  should  have  the  gold  spoon 
put  into  your  mouth,  and  why  had  I the  pewter  one  ? It  is 
not  only  sanitary  officers  and  guardians  of  the  poor  against 
me,  bullying  me,  a poor  lone  widow.  Heaven  above  has 
been  dead  set  against  me  from  the  moment  I was  born. 
I’ve  seen  the  miners  truck  out  ore  and  cable ; now  a truck- 
load  of  metal,  then  one  of  refuse ; one  to  be  refined,  the 
other  to  be  rejected.  It  is  so  in  life ; we  are  run  out  of 
the  dark  mines  of  nothingness  into  light,  and  some  of  us 
are  all  preciousness  and  some  all  dross.  But  do  you  know 
this,  Miss  Arminell,  they  turned  out  heaps  on  heaps  of 
refuse  from  the  copper  mines,  and  now  they  have  abandoned 
the  copper  to  work  the  refuse  heaps  ? They  find  them  rich 
— in  what  do  you  suppose  ? In  arsenic.” 

“ You  have  had  much  trouble  in  your  life  ? ” asked 
Arminell,  not  knowing  what  to  say  to  this  strange,  bitter 
woman. 

“ Much  trouble  ! ” Patience  curtsied.  She  unlaced  her 
arms,  and  used  her  hands  as  she  spoke,  like  a French- 
woman. She  lacked  the  words  that  would  express  her 
thoughts  and  enforced  and  supplemented  them  with  gesture. 
“ Much  trouble  ! You  shall  hear  how  I have  been  served. 
My  father  worked  in  this  old  lime  quarry  till  it  was  aban- 
doned, and  when  it  stopped,  then  he  was  out  of  work  for 
two  months,  and  he  went  out  poaching,  and  shot  himself 
instead  of  a pheasant.  He  was  not  used  to  a gun. 
’Twasn’t  the  fault  of  the  gun.  The  gun  was  good  enough. 
When  he  was  brought  home  dead,  my  mother  went  into 
one  fainting  fit  alter  anothgj-,  and  I was  born  ; but  she  di<|d.” 

I 

U.  OF  ILL  LIB, 

V 1 


52 


ARMINELL. 


“The  quarry  was  given  up,  I suppose,  because  it  was 
worked  out  ? ” said  Arminell. 

“Why  did  Providence  allow  it  to  be  worked  out  so  soon? 
Why  wasn't  the  lime  made  to  run  ten  feet  deeper,  three 
feet,  one  foot  would  have  done  it  to  keep  my*  father  alive 
over  my  birth,  and  so  saved  my  mother’s  life  and  made  me 
a happy  woman  ? ” 

“ And  when  your  poor  mother  died  ? ” 

“ Then  it  was  bad  for  poor  me.  I was  left  an  orphan 
child  and  was  brought  up  by  my  uncle,  who  was  a local 
preacher.  He  wasn’t  over-pleased  at  being  saddled  wi’  me 
to  keep.  He  served  me  bad,  and  didn’t  give  me  enough 
to  eat.  Once  he  gave  me  a cruel  beating  because  I 
wouldn’t  say,  ‘ Forgive  us  our  trespasses,’  for,  said  I, 
‘ Heaven  has  trespassed  against  me,  not  I against  Heaven.’ 
Why  was  there  not  another  foot  or  eighteen  inches  more 
lime  created  when  it  was  made,  so  that  my  father  and 
mother  might  have  lived,  and  I had  a home  and  not  been 
given  over  to  uncle  ? What  I said  then,  I say  now  ” — all 
Patience’s  fierceness  rushed  into  her  eyes.  “ Answer  me 
Have  I been  fairly  used  ? ” She  extended  her  arms,  and  held 
her  hands  open,  appealing  to  Arminell  for  her  judgment. 

“ And  then  ? ” asked  the  girl,  after  a long  silence,  during 
which  nothing  was  heard  but  the  pecking  of  the  raven  at 
the  bars. 

“And  then  my  uncle  bade  me  unsay  my  words,  but  I 
would  not  Then  he  swore  he  would  thrash  me  every  day 
till  I asked  forgiveness.  So  it  came  about.” 

“ What  came  about  ? ” 

“ That  I was  sent  to  prison.” 

“ Not  for  profanity  ! for  what  ? ” 

“ For  setting  fire  to  his  house.” 

“ You ?” 

“Yes,  finish  the  question.  Yes,  I did;  and  so  I was 
sent  to  prison.” 


ARMINELL. 


53 


Arminell  involuntarily  shrank  from  the  woman. 

“ Ah  ! I frighten  you.  But  the  blame  does  not  attach 
to  me.  Why  were  there  not  a few  inches  more  lime  created 
when  the  quarry  was  ordained?  Providence  means,  I am 
told,  fore-seeing.  When  the  world  was  made  I reckon 
it  was  foreseen  that  for  lack  of  a little  more  lime  my  father 
would  shoot  himself,  and  the  shock  kill  my  mother,  and 
cast  me  without  parents  on  the  hands  of  a hard  uncle,  who 
treated  me  so  bad  that  I was  forced  to  set  his  thatch  in  a 
blaze,  and  so  was  sent  to  prison.  Providence  saw  all  that 
in  the  far-off,  and  held  hands  and  did  not  lay  another  hand- 
ful of  lime.” 

“ Have  you  ever  been  married  ? ” asked  Arminell, 
startled  by  the  defiance,  the  rage  and  revolt  in  the  woman’s 
heart.  She  asked  the  question  without  consideration,  in 
the  hope  of  diverting  the  thoughts  of  Mrs.  Kite  into  an- 
other channel. 

Patience  was  silent  for  a moment,  and  looked  loweringly 
at  the  young  lady,  then  answered  abruptly,  “ No — a few 
inches  of  lime  short  stopped  that.” 

“ How  did  that  prevent  your  marriage  ? The  quarry 
was  stopped  before  you  were  born.” 

4 4 Right,  and  because  stopped,  my  father  was  shot  and  I 
became  an  orphan,  and  was  took  by  my  uncle,  and  fired 
his  house,  and  was  sent  to  gaol.  After  that  no  man  cared 
to  take  to  wife  a woman  who  put  lighted  sticks  among  the 
thatch.  No  respectable  man  would  share  his  name  with 
one  who  had  been  in  prison.  But  I was  a handsome  girl 
in  my  day — and—  but  there — I will  tell  you  no  more.  The 
stopping  of  the  quarry  did  it.  If  there  had  been  laid  at 
bottom  a few  inches  more  of  lime  rock,  it  would  never 
have  happened.  Where  lies  the  blame  ? ” 

“Another  quarry  was  opened,”  said  Arminell,  “that 
where  Mr.  Tubb  is  captain.” 

“ True,”  answered  Patience ; “ but  between  the  closing 


54 


ARMINELL. 


of  one  and  the  opening  of  another,  my  father  bought  a gun, 
and  went  over  a hedge  with  it  on  a moonlight  night,  and 
the  trigger  caught.” 

Arminell  rose. 

“ I have  been  here  for  some  time,”  she  said,  “ and  I 
ought  to  be  on  my  way  home.  You  will  permit  me” — she 
felt  in  her  pocket  for  her  purse. 

“ No,”  said  Patience  curtly.  “You  have  paid  me  for 
what  I did  by  listening  to  my  story.  But  stay — Have  you 
heard  that  if  you  go  to  a pixy  mound,  and  take  the  soil 
thereof  and  put  it  on  your  head,  you  can  see  the  little 
people,  and  hear  their  voices,  and  know  all  they  say  and 
do.  You  have  come  here — to  this  heap  of  ruin  and 
wretchedness,”  she  stooped  and  gathered  up  some  of  the 
dust  off  the  floor  and  ashes  from  the  hearth,  and  threw 
them  on  the  head  of  Arminell.  “I  am  a witch,  they  say. 
It  is  well ; now  your  eyes  and  ears  are  opened  to  see  and 
know  and  feel  with  those  you  never  knew  of  before  this 
day — another  kind  of  creatures  to  yourself — the  poor,  the 
wretched,  the  lonely.” 


CHAPTER  VI. 


CHILLACOT. 

Arminell  Inglett  walked  musingly  from  the  cottage  ol 
Patience  Kite.  The  vehemence  of  the  woman,  the  sad 
picture  she  had  unfolded  of  a blighted  life,  the  look  she 
had  been  given  into  a heart  in  revolt  against  the  Divine 
government  of  the  world,  united  to  impress  and  disturb 
Arminell. 

Questions  presented  themselves  to  her  which  she  had 
never  considered  before.  Why  were  the  ways  of  Heaven 
unequal  ? Why,  if  God  created  all  men  of  one  flesh,  and 
breathed  into  all  a common  spirit,  why  were  they  differently 
equipped  for  life’s  journey  ? Why  were  some  sent  to 
encounter  the  freezing  blast  in  utter  nakedness,  and  others 
muffled  in  eider-down?  The  Norns  who  spin  the  threads 
of  men’s  lives,  spin  some  of  silk  and  others  of  tow.  The 
Parcse  who  shovel  the  lots  of  men  out  of  bushels  of  gold, 
dust,  and  soot,  give  to  some  soot  only ; they  do  not  trouble 
themselves  to  mix  the  ingredients  before  allotting  them. 

As  Arminell  walked  on.  revolving  in  her  mind  the  per- 
plexing question  which  has  ever  remained  unsolved  and 
continues  to  puzzle  and  drive  to  despair  those  in  all  ares 
who  consider  it,  she  came  before  the  house  of  Captain 
Saltren. 

The  house  lay  in  a narrow  glen,  so  narrow  that  it  was 
lighted  and  warmed  by  very  little  sun.  A slaty  rock  rose 
above  it,  and  almost  projected  over  it.  This  rock,  called 


56 


ARMINELL. 


the  Cleve,  was  crowned  with  heather  and  ivy  scrambled 
up  it  from  below.  A brook  brawled  down  the  glen  below 
the  house. 

The  coombe  had  been  wild  and  disregarded,  a jungle  of 
furze  and  bramble,  till  Saltren’s  father  settled  in  it,  and  no 
man  objecting,  enclosed  part  of  the  waste,  built  a house, 
and  called  it  his  own.  Lord  Lamerton  owned  the  manor, 
and  might  have  interfered,  or  claimed  ground-rent,  but  in 
a former  generation  much  careless  good-nature  existed 
among  landlords,  and  squatters  were  suffered  to  seize  on 
and  appropriate  land  that  was  regarded  of  trifling  value. 
The  former  Lord  Lamerton  perhaps  knew  nothing  of  the 
appropriation.  His  agent  was  an  old,  gouty,  easy-going 
man  who  looked  into  no  matters  closely,  and  so  the  Sal- 
trens  became  possessed  of  Chillacot  without  having  any 
title  to  show  for  it.  By  the  same  process  Patience  Kite’s 
father  had  obtained  his  cottage,  and  Patience  held  her 
house  on  the  same  tenure  as  Saltren  held  Chillacot. 
Usually  when  settlers  enclosed  land  and  built  houses,  they 
were  charged  a trifling  ground-rent,  and  they  held  their 
houses  and  fields  for  a term  of  years  or  for  lives,  and  the 
holders  were  bound  to  keep  the  dwellings  in  good  repair. 
But,  practically,  such  houses  are  not  kept  up,  and  when 
the  leases  expire,  or  the  lives  fall  in  the  houses  fall  in  also. 
A landlord  with  such  dwellings  and  tenements  on  his  pro- 
perty is  often  glad  to  buy  out  the  holders  to  terminate  the 
disgrace  to  the  place  of  having  in  it  so  many  dilapidated 
and  squalid  habitations. 

Saltren’s  house  was  not  in  a dilapidated  condition ; on 
the  contrary,  it  was  neat  and  in  excellent  repair.  Stephen 
drew  a respectable  salary  as  captain  of  the  manganese  mine 
and  could  aff  rd  to  spend  monev  o 1 th  ? little  property  of 
which  he  was  proud.  He  had  had  the  house  recently  ie- 
loofed  with  slate  instead  of  thatch,  with  which  it  had  been 
formerly  covered.  The  windows  and  doors  had  been 


ARMINELL. 


57 


originally  made  of  home-grown  deal,  not  thoroughly  mature, 
and  it  had  rotted.  Saltren  renewed  the  wood-work  through- 
out. Moreover,  the  chimney  having  been  erected  of  the 
same  stone  as  that  of  JCite’s  cottage,  had  decayed  in  the 
same  manner.  Saltren  had  it  taken  dowTn  and  rebuilt  in 
brick,  which  came  expensive,  as  brick  had  to  be  cat  ted 
from  fourteen  miles  off.  But,  as  the  captain  said,  one 
does  not  mind  spending-money  on  a job  designed  to  be 
permanent.  Saltren  had  restocked  his  garden  with  fruit 
trees  three  or  four  years  ago,  and  these  now  gave  promise 
of  bearing. 

The  glen  in  which  Chillacot  lay  was  a “ coombe,”  that  is, 
it  was  a short  lateral  valley  running  up  into  hill  or  moor, 
and  opening  into  the  main  valley  through  which  flows  the 
arterial  stream  of  the  district.  It  was  a sequestered  spot, 
and  as  the  glen  was  narrow,  it  did  not  get  its  proper  shaie 
of  sun.  Some  said  the  glen  was  called  Chillacoombe 
because  it  was  chilly,  but  the  rector  deiived  the  name  from 
the  Celtic  word  for  wood. 

We  hear  much  now-a-days  about  hereditary  instincts  and 
proclivities,  and  a man's  character  is  thought  to  be  deter- 
mined by  those  of  his  ancestors.  But  locality  has  much  to 
do  with  the  determination  of  character.  Physical  causes 
model,  develope,  or  alter  physical  features ; national  char- 
acteristics are  so  shaped,  and  why  not  individual  characters 
also? 

The  climate  of  England  is  responsible  to  a large  extent 
for  the  formation  of  the  representative  John  Bull.  The 
blustering  winds,  the  uncertain  weather,  go  to  the  hardening 
of  the  Englishman's  self-reliance,  determination,  and  per 
severance  under  difficulties.  He  cannot  wait  to  make  hay 
till  the  sun  shints,  he  must  make  it  whether  the  sun  shines 
or  not.  Having  to  battle  with  wind  and  rain,  and  face  the 
searching  east  wind,  to  confront  sleet,  and  snow,  and  hail 
from  childhood,  when,  with  shining  face  and  satchel  he  goes 


ARMINELL. 


58 

to  school,  the  boy  learns  to  put  down  his  head  and  defy  the 
weather.  Having  learned  to  put  down  his  head  and  go 
along  as  a boy,  he  does  the  same  all  through  life,  not 
against  weather  only,  but  against  ^everything  that  opposes, 
with  teeth  clenched,  and  fists  rolled  up  in  his  breeches 
pocket. 

The  national  characteristic  affects  the  very  animals  bred 
in  our  storm-battered  isle.  A friend  of  the  author  had  a 
puppy  brought  out  to  him  on  the  continent  from  England. 
That  little  creature  sought  out,  fought,  and  rolled  over 
every  dog  in  the  city  where  it  was* 

“ Dat  ish  not  a doug  of  dish  countree  1 ” said  a native 
who  observed  its  pugnacity. 

“ Oh,  no,  it  is  an  English  pup.” 

“ Ach  so  ! I daught  as  much,  it  ist  one  deevil ! ” 

Perhaps  the  gloom  of  Chillacot,  its  sunlessness,  was  one 
cause  of  the  gravity  that  affected  Saltren’s  mind,  and  made 
him  silent,  fanatical,  shadow-haunted.  The  germs  of  the 
temperament  were  in  him  from  boyhood,  but  were  not  fully 
developed  till  after  his  marriage  and  the  disappointment 
and  disillusioning  that  ensued.  He  was  a man  devoid  of 
humour,  a joke  hurt  and  offended  him  ; if  it  was  not  sinful, 
it  closely  fringed  on  sin,  because  he  could  not  appreciate  it. 
He  had  a tender,  affectionate  heart,  full  of  soft  places,  and, 
but  for  his  disappointment,  would  have  been  a kindly  man  ; 
but  he  had  none  to  love.  The  wife  had  betrayed  him,  the 
child  was  not  his  own.  The  natural  instincts  of  his  heart 
became  perverted,  he  waxed  bitter,  suspicious,  and  ready  to 
take  umbrage  at  trifles. 

When  Arminell  came  in  front  of  the  cottage,  she  saw 
Mrs.  Saltren  leaning  over  the  gate.  She  was  a woman  who 
still  bore  the  traces  of  her  former  beauty,  her  nose  and  lips 
were  delicately  moulded,  and  her  eyes  were  still  lovely, 
large  and  soft,  somewhat  sensuous  in  their  softness.  The 
face  was  not  that  of  a woman  of  decided  character,  the 


ARMINELL. 


59 


mouth  was  weak.  Her  complexion  was  clear.  Jingles  had 
inherited  his  good  looks  from  her.  As  Arminell  approached, 
she  curtsied,  then  opened  the  gate,  and  asked — 

“Miss  Inglett,  if  I may  be  so  bold,  I would  so  much  like 
to  have  a word  with  you.” 

“ Certainly,”  answered  Arminell. 

“Will  you  honour  me,  miss,  by  taking  a seat  on  the 
bench  ? ” asked  Mrs.  Saltren,  pointing  to  a garden  bench 
near  the  door.  • 

Arminell  declined  graciously.  She  could  not  stay  long, 
she  had  been  detained  already,  and  had  transgressed  the 
luncheon  hour. 

“Ah,  Miss  Inglett,”  said  the  captain’s  wife,  “I  did  so 
admire  and  love  your  dear  mother,  the  late  lady,  she  was  so 
good  and  kind,  and  she  took — though  I say  it — a sort  of 
fancy  to  me,  and  was  uncommonly  gracious  to  me.” 

“You  were  at  the  park  once?” 

“ I was  there  before  I married,  but  that  was  just  a few 
months  before  my  lord  married  your  mother,  the  first  Lady 
Lamerton.  I never  was  in  the  house  with  her,  but  she  often 
came  and  saw  me.  That  was  a bad  day  for  many  of  us — 
not  only  for  you,  miss,  but  for  all  of  us — when  she  died. 
If  she  had  lived,  I don’t  think  we  could  have  fallen  into 
this  trouble.” 

“ What  trouble?”  Arminell  asked.  She  was  touched  by 
the  reference  to  her  mother,  about  whom  she  knew  and  was 
told  so  little. 

“I  mean,  miss,  the  mine  that  is  being  stopped.  Her 
dear  late  ladyship  would  never  have  allowed  it.” 

“But  it  runs  under  the  house.” 

“Oh,  miss,  nothing  of  the  sort.  That  is  what  Mr. 
Macduff  says,  because  he  is  trying  to  persuade  his  lordship 
to  close  the  mine.  It  is  not  for  me  to  speak  against  him, 
but  he  is  much  under  the  management  of  Mrs.  Macduff, 
who  is  a very  fine  lady  ; and  because  the  miners  don’t 


6o 


ARMINELL. 


salute  her,  she  gives  Macduff  no  rest,  day  or  night,  till  he 
gets  his  lordship  to  disperse  the  men.  My  lord  listens  to 
him,  and  does  not  see  who  is  speaking  through  his  iips. 
My  brother  James  is  a comical-minded  man,  and  he  said 
one  day  that  Mr.  Macduff  was  like  the  automaton  chess- 
player that  was  once  exhibited  in  London  Every  one 
thought  the  wax  doll  played,  but  there  was  a young  girl  hid 
in  a compartment  under  the  table,  and  she  directed  all  the 
movements  of  the  chess-player.’^ 

“ I really  cannot  interfere  between  my  lord  and  his  agent, 
or  intercept  communications  between  Mr.  Chess-player  and 
Mrs.  Prompter.’7 

“ Oh,  no,  miss  ; I never  meant  anything  of  the  sort.  I 
was  only  thinking  how  different  it  would  have  been  for  us 
if  my  lady — I mean  my  late  lady — were  here.  She  was  a 
good  friend  to  us.  Oh,  miss,  I shall  never  forget  when 
I was  ill  of  the  typhus,  and  everyone  was  afraid  to  come 
near  us,  how  my  good  lady  came  here,  carrying  a sheet  to 
the  window,  and  tapped,  and  gave  it  in,  because  she 
thought  we  might  be  short  of  linen  for  my  bed.  Eve  never 
forgot  that.  1 keep  that  sheet  to  this  day,  and  I shall 
not  part  with  it ; it  shall  serve  as  my  winding  sheet.  The 
dear  good  lady  was  so  thoughtful  for  the  poor.  But  times 
are  changed.  It  is  not  for  me  to  cast  blame,  or  to  say  that 
my  lady  as  now  is,  is  not  good,  but  there  are  different  kinds 
of  goodnesses  as  there  are  cabbage  roses  and  Marshal 
Neils.” 

Arminell  was  interested  and  touched. 

“ You  knew  my  dear  mother  well  ? ” 

“ I am  but  a humble  person,  and  it  is  unbecoming  of  me 
to  say  it,  though  I have  a brother  who  is  a gentleman,  who 
associates  with  the  best  in  the  land,  and  I am  better  born 
than  you  may  suppose,  seeing  that  I married  a captain  of  a 
manganese  mine.  I beg  pardon — I was  saying  that  her 
ladyship  almost  made  a friend  of  me,  though  I say  it  who 


ARMINELL. 


6l 

ought  not.  Still,  I had  feelings  and  education  above  ray 
station,  and  that  perhaps  led  her  to  consult  me  when  she 
came  here  to  Orleigh  and  knew  nothing  of  the  place  or 
of  the  people,  and  might  have  been  imposed  on,  but  for 
me.  After  I recovered  of  the  scarlet  fever ” 

“ I thought  it  was  typhus  ? ” 

“ It  began  scarlet  and  ended  typhus.  Those  fevers, 
miss,  as  my  brother  James  says  in  his  droll  way,  are  like 
tradesmen,  they  make  jobs  for  each  other,  and  hand  on  the 
patient.” 

" How  long  was  that  after  Mr.  Jingles — I mean  your  son, 
Mr.  Giles  Saltren,  was  born  ? ” 

“ Oh,” — Mrs.  Saltren  looked  about  her  rather  vaguely — 
“ not  over  long.  Will  you  condescend  to  step  indoors  and 
see  my  little  parlour,  where  I think,  miss,  you  have  never 
been  yet,  though  it  is  scores  and  scores  of  times  your  dear 
mother  came  there.” 

“ I will  come  in,”  said  Arminell  readily.  Her  heart 
warmed  to  the  woman  who  had  been  so  valued  by  her 
mother. 

The  house  was  tidy,  dismal  indeed,  and  small,  but  what 
made  it  most  dismal  was  the  strain  after  grandeur,  the  gay 
table-cover,  the  carpet  with  large  pattern,  the  wall  paper 
black  with  huge  bunches  of  red  and  white  roses  on  it,  out 
of  keeping  with  the  dimensions  of  the  room. 

Arminell  looked  round  and  felt  a rising  sense  of  the 
absurdity,  the  affectation,  the  incongruity,  that  at  any  other 
moment  would  have  made  her  laugh  inwardly,  though  too 
well-bred  to  give  external  sign  that  she  ridiculed  what  she 
saw. 

“ Ah,  miss  ! ” said  Mrs.  Saltren,  “ you’re  looking  at  that 
beautiful  book  on  the  table.  My  lady  gave  it  me  herself, 
and  I value  it,  not  because  of  what  it  contains,  nor  for  the 
handsome  binding,  but  because  of  her  who  gave  it  to  me.” 

Arminell  took  up  the  book  and  opened  it. 


62 


ARMINELL. 


“ But — ” she  said, — “the  date.  It  is  an  annual,  pub- 
lished three  years  after  my  mother’s  death.” 

“ Oh,  I beg  your  pardon,  miss,  I did  not  say  my  late 
lady  gave  it  me.  I said,  my  lady.  I know  how  to  distin- 
guish between  them.  If  it  had  been  given  me  by  your 
dear  mother,  who  is  gone,  my  late  lady,  do  you  suppose  it 
would  be  lying  here  ? I would  not  keep  it  in  the  room 
where  I sit  but  rarely,  but  have  it  in  my  bed-chamber,  where 
Lcould  fold  my  hands  over  it  when  I pray.” 

“ I should  like,”  said  Arminell,  “ to  see  the  sheet  that 
my  poor  dear  mother  gave  you,  and  which  you  cherish  so 
fondly,  to  wrap  about  you  in  the  grave.” 

“With  pleasure,”  said  Mrs.  Saltren.  “No — I won’t  saj 

with  pleasure,  for  it  calls  up  sad  recollections,  and  yet,  miss, 
there  is  pleasure  in  thinking  of  the  goodness  of  that  dea* 
lady  who  is  gone.  Lor  ! miss,  it  did  seem  dreadful  that 
my  dear  lady  when  on  earth  didn’t  take  precedency  ovei 
the  daughter  of  an  earl,  but  now,  in  heaven,  she  rank* 
above  marchionesses.” 

Then  she  asked  Arminell  to  take  a chair,  and  went 
slowly  upstairs  to  search  for  the  sheet.  While  she  was 
absent  the  girl  looked  round  her,  and  now  her  lips  curled 
with  derision  at  the  grotesque  strain  after  refinement  and 
luxury  which  were  unattainable  as  a whole,  and  only 
reached  in  inharmonious  scraps  and  disconnected  patches. 

This  was  the  home  of  Jingles  ! What  a change  for  him, 
from  these  mean  surroundings,  this  tasteless  affectation,  to 
the  stateliness  and  smoothness  of  life  at  Orleigh  Park  ! 
How  keenly  he  must  feel  the'  contrast  when  he  returned 
home  ! Had  her  father  dealt  rightly  by  the  young  man,  in 
giving  him  culture  beyond  his  position  ? It  is  said  that  a 
man  has  sat  in  an  oven  whilst  a chop  has  been  done,  and 
has  eaten  the  chop,  without  being  himself  roasted,  but  then 
the  temperature  of  the  oven  was  gradually  raised  and 
gradually  lowered.  Young  Saltren  had  jumped  into  the 


ARMINELL. 


63 


oven  out  of  a cellar  and  passed  every  now  and  then  back 
again  to  the  latter.  This  alteration  of  temperatures  wou.d 
kill  him. 

Some  time  elapsed  before  Mrs.  Saltren  returned.  She 
descended  the  stair  slowly,  sighing,  with  the  sheet  over  her 

arm. 

“You  need  not  fear  to  catch  the  fever  from  it,  miss,”  she 
said,  “ it  has  been  washed  many  times  since  it  was  used — 
with  my  tears.” 

Arminell’s  heart  was  full.  She  took  the  sheet  and 
looked  at  it.  How  good,  how  considerate  her  mother  had 
been.  And  what  a touch  of  real  feeling  this  was  *.)  the 
faithful  creature,  to  cherish  the  token  of  her  mother’s 
kindness. 

The  young  are  sentimental,  and  are  incapable  of  distin- 
guishing true  feeling  from  false  rhodomontade. 

“ Why  ! ” exclaimed  Arminell,  “ it  has  a mark  in  the 
corner  S S, — does  not  that  stand  for  your  husband’s  initials  ?” 

The  woman  seemed  a little  taken  aback,  but  soon  re- 
covered herself. 

“ It  may  be  so.  But  it  comes  about  like  this.  I asked 
Stephen  to  mark  the  sheet  with  a double  L.  for  Louisa, 
Lady  Lamerton,  and  a coronet  over,  but  he  was  so  scrupu- 
lous, he  said  it  might  be  supposed  I had  carried  it  away 
from  the  park,  and  that  as  the  sheet  was  given  to  us,  we’d 
have  it  marked  as  our  own.  My  husband  is  as  particular 
about  his  conscience  as  one  must  be  with  the  bones  in  a 
herring.  It  was  Bond’s  marking  ink  he  used,”  said  Mrs. 
Saltren,  eager  to  give  minute  circumstances  that  might 
serve  as  confirmation  of  her  story,  “ and  there  was  a 
stretcher  of  wood,  a sprt  of  hoop,  that  strained  the  linen 
whilst  it  was  being  written  on.  If  you  have  any  doubt, 
miss,  about  my  story,  you’ve  only  to  ask  for  a bottle  of 
Bond’s  marking  ink  and  you  will  see  that  they  have  circular 
stretchers — which  is  a proof  that  this  is  the  identical  sheet 


64 


ARM  I NELL. 


my  lady  gave  me.  Besides,  there  is  a number  under  the 
letters.” 

“^es,  seven.” 

“ That  was  my  device.  It  rhymes  with  heaven,  where 
my  lady, — I mean  my  late  lady — is  now  taking  precedence 
even  of  marchionesses.” 

Arminell  said  nothing.  The  woman’s  mind  was  like  her 
parlour,  full  of  incongruities. 

“Look  about  you,  miss,”  continued  Mrs.  Saltren  ; “though 
I say  it,  who  ought  not,  this  is  a pretty  and  comfortable 
house  with  a certain  elegance  which  I have  introduced  into 
it.  My  brother,  James  Welsh,  is  a gentleman,  and  writes  a 
great  deal.  You  may  understand  how  troubled  my  husband 
is  at  the  thought  of  leaving  it.” 

“ But — why  leave  ? ” 

“ Because,  Miss  Inglett,  he  will  have  no  work  here.  He 
will  be  driven  to  go  to  America,  and,  unfortunately,  he  has 
expended  his  savings  in  doing  up  the  house  and  planting  the 
garden.  I am  too  delicate  to  risk  the  voyage,  so  I shall  be 
separated  from  my  husband.  My  son  Giles  has  already 
been  taken  from  me.”  Then  she  began  to  cry. 

A pair  of  clove-pinks  glowed  in  ArmineU’s  cheeks.  She 
could  hardly  control  her  voice.  These  poor  Saltrens  were 
badly  used;  her  father  was  to  blame.  He  was  the  occasion 
of  their  trouble. 

“ It  must  not  be,”  said  Arminell,  starting  up,  “ I will  go 
at  once  and  speak  to  his  lordship.” 


CHAPTER  VII. 


A VISION. 

Without  another  word  Arminell  left  the  cottage.  As  she 
did  so,  she  passed  Captain  Saltren  speaking  to  Captain 
Tubb.  The  former  scarce  touched  his  hat,  but  the  latter 
saluted  her  with  profound  respect. 

When  she  was  out  of  hearing,  Saltren,  whose  dark  eyes 
had  pursued  her,  said  in  a low,  vibrating  tone  : 

“ There  she  goes — one  of  the  Gilded  Clique.” 

“ I think  you  might  have  shown  her  more  respect,  man,” 
said  Tubb.  “ Honour  to  whom  honour  is  due,  and  she  is 
honourable.” 

“ Why  should  I show  respect  to  her?  If  she  were  a poor 
girl  earning  her  bread,  I would  salute  her  with  true  rever- 
ence, for  God  hath  chosen  the  poor,  rich  in  faith.  But  is  it 
not  written  that  it  is  easier  for  a camel  to  pass  through  the 
eye  of  a needle,  than  for  the  rich  to  enter  into  heaven  ? ” 

“ You’ve  queer  fancies,  Cap’n.” 

“ They  are  not  fancies,”  answered  Saltren ; “ as  it  is 
written,  so  I speak.”  Then  he  hesitated.  Something  was 
working  in  his  mind,  and  for  a moment  he  doubted 
whether  to  speak  to  one  whom  he  did  not  regard  as  of  the 
elect. 

But  Saltren  was  not  a man  who  could  restrain  himself 
under  an  over-mastering  conviction,  arid  he  burst  forth  in  a 
torrent  of  words,  and  as  he  spoke  his  sombre  eyes  gleamed 
with  excitement,  and  sparks  lit  up  and  flashed  in  them. 


66 


ARM  IN  ELL. 


Soft  they  usually  were,  and  dreamy,  but  now,  all  at  once 
they  kindled  into  vehement  life. 

“I  tell  you,  Tubb,  the  Lord  hath  spoken.  The  last  days 
are  at  hand.  I read  my  Bible  and  I read  my  newspaper, 
and  I know  that  the  aristocracy  are  a scandal  and  a burden 
to  the  country.  Now  the  long-suffering  of  heaven  will  not 
tarry.  It  has  been  revealed  to  me  that  they  are  doomed  to 
destruction.” 

“ Revealed  to  you  ! 99 

“Yes,  to  me,  an  unworthy  creiture,  as  none  know  better 
than  myself,  full  of  erro:s  and  faults  and  blindness— and 
yet — to  me.  I was  wn  stling  in  spirit  near  the  water’s  edge, 
thinking  of  these  things,  when,  suddenly,  I heard  a voice 
from  heaven  calling  me.” 

“ How — by  name  ? Did  it  call  you  Cap’n  ? ” 

Saltren  hesitat  d.  “I  can’t  mind  just  now  whether  it 
said,  Saltren,  Saltren  ! or  whether  it  said  Mister,  or  whether 
Cap’n,  or  Stephen.  I daresay  I shall  remember  bv-and-by 
when  I come  to  turn  it  over  in  my  mind.  But  all  has  come 
on  me  so  freshly,  so  suddenly,  that  I am  still  dazed  with 
the  revelations.” 

“Go  on,”  said  Tubb,  shaking  his  head  dubiously. 

“ And  when  I looked  up,  I saw  a book  come  flying  down 
to  me  out  of  heaven,  and  I held  up  my  hands  to  receive  it, 
but  it  went  by  me  into  the  water  hard  by  where  I was.” 

“ Somebody  chucked  it  at  you,”  exclaimed  the  practical 
Tubb. 

“ I tell  ycu,  it  came  down  out  of  heaven,”  said  Saltren, 
impatiently.  “ You  have  no  faith.  I saw  the  book,  and 
before  I could  lay  hold  of  it,  it  went  under  the  raft — I 
mean,  it  went  down,  down  in  the  water,  and  I beheld  it  no 
more.” 

“ What  sort  of  a book  was  it  ? ” 

“ I saw  it  but  for  a moment,  as  it  floated  with  the  back: 
upwards,  before  it  disappeared.  There  was  a head  on  it 


arminell.  67 

and  a title.  I could  not  make  out  whose  head,  but  1 read 
the  title,  and  the  title  was  clear.” 

“ What  was  it  ? ” 

“ 4 The  Gilded  Clique.'  ” 

“ Clique  ! what  was  that  ? ” 

“ A society,  a party,  and  I know  what  was  meant.” 

“ Some  one  must  have  chucked  the  book,”  again  reasoned 
the  prosaic  Tubb. 

“ It  was  not  chucked,  it  fell.  I was  wrong  to  tell  you  of 
my  vision.  The  revelation  is  not  for  such  as  you.  I will 
say  no  more.” 

“ And  pray,  what  do  you  make  out  of  this  queer  tale  ? ” 
asked  the  captain  of  the  lime  quarry,  with  ill-disguised  in- 
credulity. 

“Is  it  not  plain  as  the  day  ? I have  had  revealed  to  me 
that  the  doom  of  the  British  aristocracy  is  pronounced,  the 
House  of  Lords,  the  privileged  class— in  a word,  the  whole 
Gilded  Clique  ? ” 

Tubb  shook  his  head. 

“You’ll  never  satisfy  me  it  weren’t  chucked,”  lie  said. 
“ But,  to  change  the  subject,  Saltren.  You  have  read  and 
studied  more  than  I have.  Can  you  tell  me  what  sort  of  a 
plant  Quinquagesima  is,  and  whether  it  is  grown  from  seed, 
or  cuttings,  or  layers  ? ” 


CHAPTER  VIII. 


ABREAST. 

As  Arminell  left  Chillacot  she  did  not  observe  the  scant 
courtesy  shown  her  by  Captain  Saltren.  She  was  brimming 
with  sympathy  for  him  in  his  trouble,  with  tender  feeling 
for  the  wife  who  had  so  loved  her  mother,  and  for  the  son 
who  was  out  of  his  proper  element.  It  did  not  occur  to 
her  that  possibly  she  might  be  regarded  by  Saltren  with 
disfavour.  She  had  not  gone  many  paces  from  the  house 
before  she  came  on  a middle-aged  couple,  walking  in  the 
sun,  abreast,  arm  in  arm,  the  man  smoking  a pipe,  which 
he  removed  and  concealed  in  the  pocket  of  his  old  velvet 
shooting  coat,  when  he  saw  Arminell,  and  then  he  respect- 
fully removed  his  hat.  The  two  had  been  at  church. 
Arminell  knew  them  by  sight,  but  she  had  not  spoken  at 
any  time  to  efther.  The  man,  she  had  heard,  had  once 
been  a gamekeeper  on  the  property,  but  had  been  dismissed, 
the  reason  forgotten,  probably  dishonesty.  The  woman 
was  handsome,  with  bright  complexion,  and  very  clear, 
crystalline  eyes,  a boldly  cut  nose,  and  well  curved  lips. 
The  cast  of  her  features  was  strong,  yet  the  expression  of 
the  face  was  timid,  patient  and  pleading. 

She  had  fair,  very  fair  hair,  hair  that  would  imperceptibly 
become  white,  so  that  on  a certain  day,  those  who  knew  her 
would  exclaim,  “ Why,  Joan  ! who  would  have  thought  it? 
Your  hair  is  white.”  But  some  years  must  pass  before  the 
bleaching  of  Joan’s  head  was  accomplished.  She  was  only 
forty,  and  was  hale  and  strongly  built. 


ARMINELL. 


69 


She  unlinked  her  arm  from  that  of  her  companion  and 
came  curtseying  to  Arminell,  who  saw  that  she  wore  a 
hideous  crude  green  kerchief,  and  in  her  bonnet,  magenta 
bows. 

“ Do  you  want  me  ? ” she  asked  coldly.  The  unsesthetic 
colours  offended  her. 

“ Please,  my  lady  ! ” 

“ 1 am  not  ‘ my  lady/  ” 

Joan  was  abashed,  and  retreated  a step. 

“ I am  Miss  Inglett.  What  do  you  \fant  ? ” 

“ I was  going  to  make  so  bold,  my  la — I mean,  miss .” 

Joan  became  crimson  with  shame  at  so  nearly  transgressing 
again.  “ This  is  Samuel  Ceely.” 

Arminell  nodded.  She  was  impatient,  and  wanted  to  be 
at  home.  She  looked  at  the  man  whose  pale  eyes  quivered. 
“ Is  he  your  husband  ? ” asked  Arminell. 

“ No,  miss,  not  exactly.  Us  have  been  keeping  com- 
pany twenty  years — no  more.  How  many  years  is  it  since 
us  first  took  up  wi’  each  other,  Samuel  ? ” 

“ Nigh  on  twenty-two.  Twenty- two.” 

“Go  along,  Samuel,  not  so  much  as  that.  Well,  miss, 
us  knowed  each  other  when  Samuel  was  a desperate  wicked 
(i.e.  lively)  chap.  Then  Samuel  was  keeper  at  the  park. 
There  was  some  misunderstanding.  The  head-keeper  was 
to  blame  and  laid  it  on  Samuel.  He’s  told  me  so  scores  o’ 
times.  Then  came  his  first  accident.  When  was  that, 
Samuel  ? ” 

“ When  I shooted  my  hand  away  ? Nineteen  years  come 
next  Michaelmas.” 

“ Were  you  keeper,  then  ? ” asked  Arminell. 

“ No,  miss,  not  exactly.” 

“ Then,  how  came  you  with  the  gun  ? ” 

6t  By  accident,  quite  by  accident.” 

Joan  hastily  interfered.  It  would  not  do  to  enquire  too 
closely  what  he  was  doing  on  that  occasion. 


7o 


ARMINELL. 


“ When  was  your  second  accident,  Samuel  ? n 
“ Fifteen  years  agone.” 

" And  what  was  that  ? ” asked  Joan. 

“ I failed  off  a waggon.  ” 

Arminell  interrupted.  This  was  the  scene  of  old  Gobbo 
and  young  Gobbo  re-enacted.  It  must  be  brought  to  an 
end.  “ Tell  thou  the  tale,”  she  said  with  an  accent  of  im- 
patience in  her  intonation,  addressing  Joan.  “What  is 
your  name  ? ” 

“Joan  Melhuish,*  miss.  Us  have  been  sweethearts  a 
great  many  years  ; and,  miss,  the  poor  old  man  can’t  do  a 
sight  of  work,  because  of  his  leg,  and  because  of  his  hand. 
But,  lor-a-mussy,  miss,  his  sweepings  is  beautiful.  You 
could  eat  your  dinner,  miss,  off  a stable  floor,  where  Samuel 
has  swept.  Or  the  dog-kennels,  miss, — if  Samuel  were  but 
with  the  dogs,  he’d  be  as  if  in  Paradise.  He  do  love  dogs 
dearly,  do  Samuel.  He’s  that  conscientious,  miss,  that  if 
he  was  sound  asleep,  and  minded  in  his  dream  there  was  a 
bit  o’  straw  lying  where  he  ought  to  ha’  swept  clean,  or  that 
the  dogs  as  needed  it,  hadn’t  had  brimstone  put  in  their 
water,  he’d  get  up  out  o’  the  warmest  bed — not,  poor  chap, 
that  he’s  got  a good  one  to  lie  on — to  give  the  dog  his 
brimstone,  or  pick  up  thickey  (that)  straw.” 

She  was  so  earnest,  so  sincere,  that  her  story  appealed  to 
ArminelPs  feelings.  Was  the  dust  that  the  witch,  Patience, 
had  cast  on  her  head,  taking  effect  and  opening  her  eyes  to 
the  sorrows  and  trials  of  the  underground  folk  ? 

“ Please,  miss  ! It  ain’t  only  sweeping  he  does  beauti- 
fully. If  a dog  has  fleas,  he’ll  wash  him  and  comb  him — 
and,  miss,  he  can  skin  a hare  or  a rabbit  beautiful — beauti- 
ful ! I don’t  mean  to  deny  that  Samuel  takes  time  about 
it,”  she  assumed  an  apologetic  tone,  “ but  then,  miss,  which 
be  best,  to  be  slow  and  do  a thing  thorough,  or  be  quick  and 
half  do  it?  Now,  miss,  what  I was  going  to  make  so  bold 
as  to  say  was,  Samuel  do  be  a-complaining  of  the  rheumatics. 


AR  MI  NELL. 


They’ve  a-took’n  bad  across  the  loins,  and  it  be  bad  for  him 
out  in  all  weathers  weeding  turnips,  and  doing  them  odd 
and  dirty  jobs  men  won’t  do  now,  nor  wimen  n’other,  what 
wi’  the  advance  of  education,  and  the  franchise,  and  T did 
think  it  would  be  wonderiul  good  and  kind  o’  you,  miss,  if 
you’d  put  in  a word  for  Samuel,  just  to  have  the  sweeping  o’ 
the  back  yard,  or  the  pulling  of  rabbits,  or  the  cleaning  up 
of  dishes  ; he’d  make  a rare  kitchen-maid,  and  could  scour 
the  dogs  as  well,  and  keep  ’em  from  scratching  over  much. 
Lord,  miss  ! what  the  old  man  do  want  is  nourishing  food 
and  dryth  (dry  air)  over  and  about  him.” 

“ I’ll  speak  to  the  housekeeper — no,  I will  speak  to  her 
ladyship  about  the  matter.  I have  no  doubt  something  can 
be  done  for  Samuel.” 

Joan  curtsied,  and  her  honest  face  shone  with  satisfaction. 
“ Lord  A’mighty  bless  you,  miss  ! I have  been  that  con- 
cerned about  the  old  man — he  is  but  fifty,  but  looks  older, 
because  of  his  two  accidents.  H’s  shy  o’  asking  for  hisself, 
because  he  was  dismissed  by  the  late  lord  ; the  upper  keeper 
laid  things  on  him  he’d  no  right  to.  He’s  a man,  miss,  who 
don’t  set  no  store  on  his  self,  because  he  has  lost  a thumb 
and  two  fingers,  and  got  a dislocated  thigh.  But  there’s 
more  in  Samuel  than  folks  fancy  ; I ought  to  know  best,  us 
have  kept  company  twenty  } e irs.” 

“ Are  you  ever  going  to  get  married  ? ” 

Joan  shook  her  head. 

“ But  how  is  it,”  asked  Arniinel!,  “that  you  have  not  been 
married  yet,  after  courting  so  long  ? ” 

“ First  the  bursted  gun  spoiled  the  chance — but  Lord, 
miss,  though  he’s  lost  half  his  hand,  he  is  as  clever  with 
what  remains  as  most  men  with  two.” 

“ He  was  unable  to  work  for  his  living,  I suppose  ? ” 
“And  next  he  wTere  throwed  down  off  a waggon,  and  he’s 
been  lame  ever  since.  But,  Lord,  miss ! he  do  get  along 
with  the  bad  leg,  beautiful,  quite  beautiful.” 


72 


ARMINELL. 


“You  are  not  nearer  your  marriage  than  you  were 
twenty  years  ago,”  said  Arminell,  pitifully. 

“ I have  been  that  troubled  for  Samuel,”  said  Joan,  not 
replying,  but  continuing  her  own  train  of  thought ; “ I’ve 
feared  he’d  be  took  off  to  the  union,  and  then  the  old  man 
would  ha’  died,  not  having  me  to  walk  out  with  of  a Sunday 
and  bring  hirn  a little  ’baccy.  And  I — I’d  ha’  nort  in  the 
world  to  live  for,  or  to  hoard  my  wages  for,  wi’out  my  old 
Samuel.” 

The  woman  paused,  turned  round  and  looked  at  the 
feeble  disabled  wreck  of  a man,  who  put  his  crippled  hand 
to  his  forelock  and  saluted. 

“ How  came  he  to  fall  off  the  waggon  ? ” asked  Arminell. 

“ Well,  miss,  it  came  of  my  being  on  the  waggon,”  ex- 
plained Ceely,  “ I couldn’t  have  failed  off  otherwise.” 

“ Were  you  asleep  ? Was  the  waggon  in  motion  ? ” 

Joan  hastily  interfered,  it  would  not  do  for  too  close  an 
enquiry  to  be  made  into  how  it  came  that  Samuel  was  in- 
capable of  keeping  himself  firm  on  the  waggon  ; any  more 
than  it  would  do  to  go  too  narrowly  into  the  occasion  of  his 
shooting  off  his  hand. 

“ What  was  it,  miss,  you  was  a-saying  ? Nearer  our 
marriage  ? That  is  as  the  Lord  wills.  But — miss — us  two 
have  set  our  heads  on  one  thing.  I don’t  mind  telling  you, 
as  you’re  so  kind  as  to  promise  you’d  get  Samuel  a situation 
as  kitchen-maid.” 

“ 1 did  not  promise  that  !” 

“ Well,  miss,  you  said  you’d  speak  about  it,  and  1 know 
well  enough  that  what  you  speak  about  will  be  done.” 

“What  is  it  you  have  set  your  heart  on?  Can  I help 
you  to  that  ? ” 

“You,  miss!  O no,  only  the  Lord.  You  see,  miss,  I 
don’t  earn  much,  and  Samuel  next  to  nothing  at  all,  so  our 
ever  having  a heme  o our  own  do  seem  a long  way  off. 
But  there’s  the  north  side  of  the  church,  where  Samuel’s 


ARMINELL. 


73 


two  fingers  and  thumb  be  laid,  us  can  go  to  them.  And  us 
have  bespoke  to  the  sexton  the  place  whereabout  the  fingers 
and  thumb  lie.  I ha’  planted  rosemary  there,  and  know 
where  it  be,  and  no  one  else  can  be  laid  there,  as  his  fingers 
and  thumb  be  resting  there.  And  when  Samuel  dies,  or  I 
die,  whichever  goes  first  is  to  lie  beside  the  rosemary  bush 
over  his  fingers  and  thumb,  and  when  the  t’other  follows, 
Samuel  or  I will  be  laid  beside  the  other,  with  only  the 
fingers  and  thumb  and  rosemary  bush  between  us, — ’cos 
us  ain’t  exactly  married — and  ’twouldnt  be  respectable 
vvi’out.  ’Twill  be  no  great  expense,”  she  added,  apologeti- 
cally. 

When  Joan  Melhuish  had  told  her  all  the  story,  Arminell 
no  longer  saw  the  crude  green  kerchief  and  the  magenta 
bows.  She  saw  only  the  face  of  the  poor  woman,  the 
crystal-clear  eyes  in  which  light  came,  and  then  moisture, 
and  the  trembling  lips  that  told  more  by  their  tremor  than 
by  the  words  that  passed  over  them,  of  the  deep  stirring  in 
the  humble,  patient,  heart. 

How  often  it  is  with  us  that,  looking  at  others,  who  be- 
long to  an  inferior,  or  only  a distinct  class,  we  observe 
nothing  but  verdigris  green  kerchiefs  and  magenta  bows, 
something  out  of  taste,  jarring  with  our  refinement,  ridicu- 
lous from  our  point  of  view.  Then  we  talk  of  the  whole 
class  as  supremely  barbarous,  grotesque  and  separate  from 
us  by  leagues  of  intervening  culture,  a class  that  puts  verdi- 
gris kerchiefs  on  and  magenta  bows,  as  our  forefathers  before 
Christ  painted  their  bodies  with  woad.  And  we  argue — 
these  people  have  no  human  instincts,  no  tender  emotions, 
no  delicate  feelings — how  can  they  have,  wearing  as  they  do 
green  ties  and  magenta  bows  ? Have  the  creatures  eyes  ? 
Surely  not  when  they  wear  such  unsesthetic  colours.  Hands, 
organs,  dimensions,  senses,  affections,  passions?  Not  with 
emerald-green  kerchiefs.  If  we  prick  them  they  do  not 
bleed.  If  we  tickle  they  cannot  laugh.  If  we  poison  them, 


74 


ARM  I NELL. 


they  will  not  die.  If  we  wrong  them — bah  ! They  wear 
magenta  bows  and  are  ridiculous. 

It  needs,  may  be,  a sod  taken  from  their  soil,  a little  dust 
from  their  hearth  shaken  over  our  heads  to  open  our  eyes  to 
see  that  they  have  like  passions  andweaknesses  with  ourselves. 

Arminell,  without  speaking,  turned  to  Samuel,  and 
looked  at  him. 

What  was  there  in  this  poor  creature  to  deserve  such 
faithful  love?  He  was  a ruin,  and  not  the  ruin  of  a noble 
edifice,  but  of  a commonplace  man.  There  was  no  beauty 
in  him,  no  indication  of  talent  in  his  face,  n power  in  the 
moulding  of  his  brow.  He  looked  absurd  in  his  short, 
shabby,  patched,  velveteen  coat,  his  breeches  and  gaiters 
on  distorted  limbs.  His  attitudes  with  the  ill-set  thigh 
were  ungainly.  And  yet — this  handsome  woman  had  given 
up  her  life  to  him. 

“ He  don’t  seem  much  to  yon,  perhaps,  miss,”  said 
Joan,  who  eagerly  scanned  ArminelFs  face,  and  with  the 
instinctive  jealousy  of  love  discovered  her  thoughts.  “ But, 
miss,  what  saith  the  Scripture  ? Look  not  on  his  coun- 
tenance or  on  the  height  of  his  stature.  You  should  ha’ 
seen  Samuel  before  his  accidents.  Then  . he  was  of  a 
ruddy  countenance,  and  goodly  to  look  on.  I always  see 
him  as  he  was/’ 

She  still  searcned  Ar  mi  nek’s  face  for  token  of  admiration. 

“ Lord,  miss  ! tastes  differ.  Some  like  apples  and  others 
like  onions.  For  my  part,  I do  like  a hand  wi’  two  fingers 
on  it,  it  is  uncommon,  it  is  properly  out  o’  the  way  as 
hands  are.  And  then,  miss,  Samuel  do  seem  to  me  to  ha’ 
laid  hold  of  eternity  wi’  two  fingers  and  a thumb,  having 
sent  them  on  before  him.,  and  that  is  more  than  can  be 
said  of  most  of  us  poor  sinners  here  below.” 

She  still  studied  the  girl’s  count -nance,  and  Arminell 
controlled  its  expression. 

“ Then,”  Joan  continued,  “as  for  his  walk,  it  is  lovely. 


ARMTNELL. 


75 


It  is  evei  dancing  as  he  goes  along  the  road.  It  makes 
one  feel  young — a girl — to  have  his  arm,  there  be  such  a 
lightness  and  swing  in  his  walk.” 

“ But — ” Arminell  began,  then  hesitated,  and  then  went 
on  with  a rush,  “ are  you  not  discontented,  impatient, 
miserable  ? ’ 

“ Why  so,  miss  ? ” * 

“ Because  you  have  loved  him  so  long  and  see  no 
chance  of  getting  him.” 

“No,  miss.  If  I get  him  here,  I get  him  to  give  me 
only  half  a hand  ; if  I get  him  in  the  other  world,  I get  his 
whole  hand,  thumb  and  two  first  fingers  as  well.  I be 
content  either  way.” 


CHAPTER  IX. 


TANDEM. 

On  the  edge  or  a moor,  at  the  extreme  limits  to  which  man 
had  driven  back  savage  nature,  where  were  the  last 
boundary  walls  of  stone  piled  up  without  compacting 
mortar,  was  a farm-house  called  Court.  It  stood  at  the 
point  where  granite  broke  out  from  under  the  schistose 
beds,  and  where  it  had  tilted  these  beds  up  into  a per- 
pendicular position.  A vast  period  of  time  had  passed 
since  the  molten  granite  thus  broke  forth,  and  the  ragged 
edges  of  upturned  rock  had  been  weathered  down  to  mere 
stumps,  but  on  these  stumps  sat  the  homestead  and.  farm- 
house of  Court,  with  a growth  of  noble  sycamores  about  it. 

A stream  brawling  down  from  the  moor  swept  half  round 
this  mass  of  old  worn-Alown  rock,  a couple  of  granite  slabs 
had  been  cast  across  it,  meeting  in  the  middle  on  a rude 
pier,  and  this  served  as  a foot-bridge,  but  carts  and  waggons 
traversed  the  water,  and  scrambled  up  a steep  ascent  cut 
out  of  the  rock  by  wheels  and  winter  runs. 

If  Court  had  been  a corn-growing  farm,  this  would  have 
been  inconvenient,  but  this  Court  was  not.  It  was  a sheep 
and  cattle  rearing  farm,  and  on  it  was  tilled  nothing  but  a 
little  rye  and  some  turnips. 

In  an  elastic  air  fresh  from  the  ocean,  at  a height  of  a 
thousand  feet  above  the  sea,  the  lungs  find  delight  in  each 
inhalation,  and  the  pulses  leap  with  perennial  youth. 


ARMINELL.  77 

Pecuniary  embarrassments  cease  to  oppress,  and  the 
political  outlook  appears  less  threatening. 

At  the  bottom  of  yonder  valley  three  hundred  feet  above 
the  sea-level,  where  a steamy,  dreamy  atmosphere  hangs, 
we  see  that  England  is  going  to  the  dogs ; the  end  of 
English  commerce,  agriculture,  the  aristocracy,  the  church, 
the  crown,  the  constitution  is  at  hand — in  a word,  the 
Saturday  Review  expresses  exactly  our  temper  of  mind.  A 
little  way  up  the  hill,  we  think  the  recuperative  power  of 
the  British  nation  is  so  great,  the  national  vigour  is  so 
enormous,  that  it  will  shake  itself  free  of  its  troubles  in 
time — in  time,  and  with  patience — in  a word,  we  begin  to 
see  through  the  spectacles  of  the  Spectator . But  wh-  n we 
have  our  foot  on  the  heather,  and  scent  the  incense  of  the 
gorse,  and  hear  the  stonechat  and  the  pewit,  and  see  the 
flicker  of  the  silver  cotton  grass  about  us,  why  then — we 
feel  we  are  in  the  best  of  worlds,  and  in  the  best  little  nook 
of  the  whole  world,  and  that  all  mankind  is  pushing  its 
way,  like  us,  upward  with  a scramble  over  obstacles  ; it 
will,  like  us,  in  the  end  breathe  the  same  sparkling  air,  and 
enjoy  the  same  extensive  outlook,  and  be  like  us  without 
care. 

From  Court  what  a wonderful  prospect  was  commanded. 
The  Angel  in  the  Apocalypse  stood  with  one  foot  on  the 
land,  and  the  other  in  the  sea  ; so  Court  stood  half  in  the 
r/ch  cultivated  garden  of  the  Western  Paradise,  and  half  in 
the  utter  desolation  of  treeless  moor.  To  south  and  west 
lay  woodlands  and  pasture,  parks  and  villages,  tufts  of 
Scotch  fir,  cedars,  oak  and  elm  and  beech,  with  rooks 
cawing  and  doves  cooing,  and  the  woodpecker  hooting 
among  them  ; to  the  east  and  north  lay  the  haunt  of  the 
blackcock  and  hawk  and  wimbrel,  and  tracts  of  heather 
flushed  with  flower,  and  gorse  ablaze  with  sun,  and  aro- 
matic as  incense. 

Far  away  in  the  north-west,  when  the  sun  went  down,  he 


78 


ARMINELL. 


set  in  a quiver  of  gold-leaf,  he  doubled  his  size  and  expired 
like  the  phoenix  in  flame.  That  was  when  he  touched  the 
ocean,  and  in  touching  revealed  it. 

What  a mystery  there  is  in  distance  ? How  the  soul  is 
drawn  forth,  step  by  step,  over  each  rolling  hill,  down  each 
half-disclosed  valley.  How  it  wonders  at  every  sparkle 
where  a far-off  window  reflects  the  sun,  and  admires  where 
the  mists  gather  in  wooded  clefts,  and  asks,  what  is  that  ? 
when  the  sun  discloses  white  specks  far  away  on  slopes  of 
turquoise ; as  the  Israelites  asked  when  they  saw  the 
Manna.  How  a curling  pillar  of  smoke  stirs  up  interest, 
rising  high  and  dispersing  slowly.  We  watch  and  are  filled 
with  conjecture. 

As  the  afternoon  sun  shines  sideways  on  the  moor-cheek, 
it  discloses  what  it  did  not  reveal  at  other  times,  the 
faintest  trace  of  furrows  where  are  no  fields  now,  where  no 
plough  has  run  since  the  memory  of  man.  Was  corn  once 
grown  there  ? At  that  bleak  altitude  ? Did  the  climate 
permit  of  its  ripening  at  one  time?  No  one  can  answer 
these  questions,  but  how  else  account  for  these  furrows 
occasionally,  only  under  certain  aspects  discernible  ? And 
to  Court  there  was  a corn-chamber,  a sort  of  tower  standing 
on  a solid  basement  of  stone  six  feet  above  the  ground,  a 
square  construction  all  of  granite  blocks,  floored  within 
with  granite,  and  with  a conical  slated  roof,  and  a flight  of 
stone  steps  leading  up  to  it.  A tower — a fortress  built 
against  rats,  who  will  gnaw  through  oak  and  even  lead,  but 
must  break  their  teeth  against  granite. 

The  corn-chamber  was  overhung  by  a sycamore,  and  at 
its  side  a rown,  or  “ witch-bean  ” as  it  is  locally  called — a 
mountain  ash — had  taken  root,  flourished  and  ripened  its 
crimson  berries. 

On  the  lowest  step  but  one  of  the  flight  leading  tc  the 
corn-chamber  sat  Thomasine  Kite,  the  daughter  of  the 
white-witch,  Patience.  The  evening  was  still  and  balmy  in 


ARMINELL. 


79 


the  valleys;  here  on  the  moor-edge  airs  ever  stirred  and 
were  crisp.  The  bells  were  ringing  for  evening  service  far 
away  in  a belfry  that  stood  on  a hill  against  the  western  sky, 
and  their  music  came  in  wafts  mingl'd  with  the  hum  of 
the  wind  among  the  heather,  and  the  twitter  among  the 
sycamores. 

Aloft,  on  the  highest  twig  of  the  tallest  tree  sat  a crow 
calling  itself  in  Greek,  Korax  ! and  so  pleased  with  the 
sound  of  its  name  in  Greek  that  it  repeated  its  name  again 
and  again,  and  grew  giddy  with  van  ty,  and  nearly  over- 
balanced itself,  and  had  to  spread  wings  and  recover  its 
poise. 

Thomasine  was  in  a bad  humour.  All  the  household  of 
Court  were  away,  master  and  mistress,  men  and  maids,  and 
she  was  left  alone  like  that  crow  on  the  tree-tops. 

“Tamsin!”  muttered  the  girl,  “ what  a.  foolish  name  I 
have  got.  It’s  like  damson,  of  which  they  make  cheese. 
If  they’d  call  me  by  my  proper  name  of  Thomasine,  it  would 
be  all  right,  but  Tamsin  I hate.” 

“ Korax  ! ” croaked  the  crow.  “Why  was  I not  born  in 
Greece  to  be  called  Korax  ? Crow  is  vulgar.” 

“ I’m  tired  of  my  place,”  grumbled  the  girl ; “ \r;:e  I am 
a servant  maid  at  Court,  out  of  the  world  and  hard  worked. 
Nothing  going  on,  nothing  to  see,  no  amusements  nothing 
to  read.” 

Why  was  Thomasine  restless  and  impatient  for  a change? 
She  did  not  herself  know.  She  was  dissatisfied  with  what  ? 
She  did  not  herself  properly  know.  She  had  vigoious 
health  ; she  had  work,  but  not  more  than  what  with  her 
fresh  youth  and  hearty  body  she  could  easily  execute.  She 
had  sufficient  to  eat.  The  farmer  and  his  wife  were  not 
exacting,  nor  rough  and  bad  tempered.  The  workmen  and 
women  on  the  farm  were  as  workmen  and  women  are,  with 
good  and  bad  points  about  them.  Elsewhere  she  would 
meet  with  much  the  same  sort  of  associates.  She  knew 


8o 


ARMINELL. 


that.  Her  wage  was  not  high,  but  it  was  as  much  as  she 
was  likely  to  get  in  a farm-house,  and  a small  wage  there 
with  freedom  was  better  than  a big  wage  in  a gentleman’s 
family  with  restraint.  She  knew  that.  Yet  she  was  not 
content  She  wanted  something,  and  she  did  not  know 
what.  She  would  give  her  mistress  notice  and  go  elsewhere. 
Whither?  She  did  not  know.  At  any  rate  it  would  be 
elsewhere,  a change  ; and  she  craved  for  a change,  for  she 
had  been  a twelvemonth  in  one  place.  Would  she  like  her 
new  situation?  She  did  not  know.  Would  she,  when  in  a 
town,  look  back  on  the  healthy  life  at  Court  ? Possibly  ; 
she  did  not  know.  But  she  could  not  stay,  because^ as  the 
passion  for  roving  is  in  the  gipsy  blood,  so  was  the  fever  of 
unrest  in  hers.  She  was  tired  of  life  as  it  presented  itself 
to  her,  uniform,  commonplace,  unsensational. 

There  was  a period  in  European  history  when  all  was 
change,  when  every  people  plucked  itself  out  of  its  ancestral 
ground  and  went  a wandering;  when  the  whole  of  the  con- 
tinent was  trampled  over  by  races  galloping  west,  like  cattle 
and  wild  beasts  disturbed  by  a prairie  fire.  What  was  the 
cause  ? We  hardly  know,  but  we  know  that  there  was  not 
a people,  a race,  a class  which  was  not  thus  inspired  with 
the  passion  for  change  of  domicile.  The  Germans  entitle 
that  period  the  time  of  the  great  Folk-wandering.  We  are 
in  the  midst  of  such  another  Folk-wandering,  but  it  is  not 
now  the  migration  of  races  and  nations,  but  of  classes  and 
individuals  ; the  passion  for  change  drives  the  men  and 
women  out  of  the  country  to  towns,  and  the  young  out  of 
their  situations.  It  is  in  the  air,  it  is  in  their  blood. 

The  evening  sun  touched  the  western  sea,  and  flared 
up  in  a spout  of  fire.  Then  Thomasine  rose  to  her  feet. 
Her  red  hair  had  fallen,  and  she  bent  her  arms  behind  her, 
to  do  it  up.  Gorgeous  that  hair  was  in  the  evening  sun,  it 
seemed  itself  10  be  on  fire,  to  be  incandescent  in  every  hair, 
and  her  attitude  as  she  stood  on  the  step  was  grand,  her 


ARMINELL. 


8l 


vigorous,  graceful  form,  her  splendid  proportions  were  shown 
in  perfection,  with  bosom  expanded,  and  her  hands  behind 
her  head  collecting  and  tying  and  twisting  the  fire  that 
rained  off  it.  The  evening  sun  was  full  on  her,  and  filled 
her  eyes  that  she  could  see  nothing  ; but  her  handsome 
face  was  shown  illuminated  as  a lamp  against  the  cold  grey 
walls  of  the  corn-chamber.  Her  shadow  was  cast  up  the 
steps  and  against  the  door,  a shadow  that  had  no  blackness 
in  it,  but  the  purple  of  the  plum. 

“ Tamsin  ! my  w^ord,  you  are  on  fire  ! ” 

She  started,  let  go  her  hair,  and  it  fell  about  her,  envelop- 
ing her  shoulders  and  arms  in  flame.  Then  she  put  one 
hand  above  her  eyes,  and  looked  to  see  who  addressed  her. 

“ You  here,  Archelaus  ! What  has  brought  you  to  this 
lost  corner  of  the  world,  this  time  o’  day?  ” 

“You,  of  course,  Tamsin,  what  else?” 

“ I wish  you’d  choose  a better  time  than  when  I’m  doing 
up  my  hair.” 

“ I could  not  wish  a better  time  than  when  you  are  in  a 
blaze  of  glory.” 

The  young  man  who  spoke  was  Archelaus  Tubb,  son  of 
the  captain  of  the  slate  quarry.  He  was  a simple,  good- 
humoured,  not  clever  young  man.  Strongly  built,  with 
sparkling  eyes  and  a merry  laugh,  he  was  just  such  a fellow 
as  would  have  made  his  way  in  the  world,  had  he  been  en- 
dowed with  wits.  He  was  not  absolutely  stupid,  but  he  was 
muddle-headed.  He  succeeded  in  nothing  that  he  under- 
took. He  had  been  apprenticed  to  a carpenter,  and  at  the 
expiration  of  three  years  was  unable  even  to  make  a gate. 

He  tried  his  hand  at  gardening,  and  dug  graves  for 
potatoes,  and  put  in  bulbs  upside  down.  He  had  faculties, 
but  was  incapable  of  applying  them,  or  was  too  careless  to 
call  them  together  and  concentrate  them  on  his  work. 
There  seemed  small  prospect  of  his  earning  wage  above  that 
of  a day-labourer. 


F 


82 


A R MI  NELL. 


He  had  fair  hair,  an  honest  face,  always  on  the  alert  for  a 
laugh.  As  he  had  been  unqualified  for  any  trade,  his  father 
had  given  him  work  in  the  quarry,  but  therein  he  earned  but 
a labourer’s  wage,  fourteen  shillings  a week. 

Thomasine  reseated  herself  on  the  lowest  step  but  one, 
and  put  her  feet  on  the  lowest,  and  crossed  her  hands  on 
her  lap. 

“Arkie,”  said  she;  “I  am  going  away  from  Court,  the 
life  here  is  too  ( ull  for  me.  I want  to  see  the  world. ” 

“ Where  are  you  going,  Tamsin  ? ” 

“Not  to  bury  myseli  in  a place  where  nothing  is  doing, 
again.  ” 

“Nothing  doing  ! There  is  plenty  of  work  on  a farm.” 

“ Work  ! ” scorned  Thomasine.  “ Who  wants  work  now  ? 
not  I — I want  to  go  where  there  are  murders  and  burglaries 
and  divorces — into  a place  where  there  is  life.” 

“ Queer  sort  of  life  that,”  said  Archelaus,  casting  himself 
down  on  the  lowest  step. 

“ I want  to  be  where  those  things  are  done  and  talked 
about,”  said  Thomasine;  “ what  do  I care  about  how  the  corn 
looks,  and  whether  the  sheep  have  the  foot-rot,  and  what 
per  stone  is  the  price  of  bullocks?  Now — you  need  not  sit 
on  my  feet.” 

“ I will  choose  a higher  step,”  said  the  lad  ; then  be  stepped 
past  her,  and  seated  himself  on  that  above  her. 

“ Upon  my  word,  Tamsin,”  he  said,  “you  haw  wonderful 
hair.  It  is  like  mother’s  copper  kettle  new  s'oured,  and 
spun  into  spiders’  threads.  Some  red  hair,”  conbriued  he, 
“ is  coarse  as  wire,  but  this,”  he  put  his  fingers  through  the 
splendid  waves,  “ but  this ” 

“Is  not  for  you  to  meddle  with,”  said  Thomasine. 
“Shall  I make  my  fortune  with  it  in  the  world?” 

She  stood  up,  and  stepped  past  him,  and  seated  herself 
on  the  step  immediately  above  that  he  occupied. 

“ In  the  world  1”  repeated  Archelaus.  “What  world-- 


ARMtNELL.  83 

that  where  murders  and  burglaries  and  divorces  are  the 
great  subject  of  talk  ? ” 

“Aye — in  the  world  where  somethin g is  doing,  where 
there  is  life,  not  in  th ; w >rld  of  mangold-wurze1.” 

“ I do  not  know,  Tamsin,”  said  the  lad  dispiritedly.  “ 1 
hope  not.” 

“Why  not?  I am  not  happy  here.  I want  to  be  where 
something  is  stirring.  “ Why,”  said  Thomasine  with  a flash 
of  anger  in  her  cheek  and  eye  and  the  tone  of  her  voice — 
“ Why  am  I to  be  a poor  farm  girl,  and  Miss  Arminell 
Inglett  to  have  all  she  wishes?  She  to  be  wealthy,  and  I to 
have  nothing?  She  to  be  happy,  and  I wretched  ? I sup- 
pose I am  good-looking,  eh,  Arkie  ?” 

“ Of  course  you  are,”  said  he  ; “ but,  Tamsin,  I cannot 
talk  to  you  as  you  are  behind  me.” 

“I  do  n )t  care  to  see  your  face,”  said  the  girl,  “the  back 
of  your  collar  and  coat  are  enough  for  me.  Is  that  your 
Sunday  wide-awake  ? ” 

“Yes — what  have  you  against  it?  ” 

“Only  that  there  is  a hole  in  it,  there” — she  thrust  her 
finger  through  the  gap  in  the  crown,  and  touched  his 
scalp. 

“ I know  there  is,  Tamsin;  a coal  bounced  on  to  it  from 
the  fire.” 

“ Without  bringing  light  to  your  brain.” 

“ [ shall  change  my  place,”  said  Archelaus  ; he  stood  up, 
stepped  past  the  girl,  and  stated  himself  above  her. 

“Now,”  said  he,  “I  can  look  down  on,  and  seek  for 
blemishes  in  your  head.” 

“ You  will  find  none  there— eh  ! Arkie?  Shall  I make 
my  fortune  with  my  hair?  Coin  it  into  gold  and  wear 
purple  and  fine  linen,  and  fare  sumptuously  every  day? 
That  is  what  I want  and  will  have,  and  1 don’t  care  how  I 
get  it ; so  long  as  I get  it.  My  head  and  hair  are  not  for 
you.” 


84 


ARMINELL. 


Then  she  stood  up,  strode  past  Archelaus,  and  planted 
herself  on  the  step  higher  than  that  he  occupied. 

“ This  is  a queer  keeping  company,  tandem  fashion,  and 
changing  the  leader,”  laughed  Archelaus. 

“We  are  not  keeping  company,”  answered  Thomasine. 
“ Tandem  is  best  as  we  are,  single  best  of  all.” 

“I  don’t  see  why  we  should  not  keep  company,”  said 
the  lad. 

“I  do,”  answered  Thomasine  sharply;  “have  I not  made 
it  plain  to  you  that  I didn't  want  a life  of  drudgery,  and 
that  I choose  to  have  a life  in  which  I may  amuse  myself?  ” 
“ Let  us  try  to  sit  on  the  same  step,”  said  Archelaus,  “ and 
then  we  can  discuss  the  matter  together,  better  than  as  we 
are,  with  one  turning  the  back  on  the  other.” 

“ There  is  not  room,  Arkie.” 

“ I’ll  try  it  all  events,”  said  he,  as  he  got  up  and  seated 
himself  beside  her.  “Now  we  are  together,  and  can  keep 
steady  if  one  puts  an  arm  round  the  other.” 

“I  will  not  be  held  by  you,”  said  she,  and  mounted  to 
the  step  above  ; then  she  burst  out  laughing,  and  pointed. 
“Do  y’  look  there,”  she  said,  “there  is  a keeping  of  com- 
pany would  suit  you.” 

She  indicated  a pair  that  approached  the  farm.  The 
man  was  lame,  with  a bad  hip,  and  his  right  hand  was 
furnished  with  two  fingers  only — it  was  Samuel  Ceely. 
His  maimed  hand  was  thrust  between  the  buttons  of  his 
waistcoat,  and  on  his  right  arm  rested  the  coarse  red  hand 
of  Joan  Melhuish. 

“ Do  v’  look  there  ! ” exclaimed  Thomasine,  “ are  they 
not  laughable  ? They  have  been  courting  these  twenty 
years,  and  no  nigher  marriage  now  than  when  they  began  ; 
it  might  be  the  same  with  us,  were  I fool  enough  to  listen 
'and  wait  for  what  you  offer.” 

* “ It  is  no  laughing  matter,”  said  the  lad,  “ it  is  sad.” 

“ It  is  sad  that  she  should  be  such  a fool  ! Will  his 


ARMINELL. 


85 


fingers  grow  again,  and  his  hip  right  itself?  She  should 
have  looked  about  for  another  lover  twenty  years  ago,  now 
it  is  too  late,  and  I take  warning  from  her.  You,  Arkie, 
are  like  Samuel  Ceely,  not  in  body  but  in  wits,  crippled 
and  limping  there.” 

“ Tamsin  ! ” exclaimed  Arkie,  “ you  shall  not  speak  like 
that  to  me.”  He  stood  up  and  stepped  to  where  she  was, 
and  seated  himself  again  beside  her.  That  was  on  the 
highest  step,  and  they  were  now  both  with  their  backs  to 
the  granary  door.  He  tried  to  take  her  hand. 

“No,  Arkie,”  she  said,  “I  speak  seriously,  I will  not  be 
your  sweetheart.  I like  you  well  enough.  You  are  a good- 
tempered,  nice  fellow,  very  good  natured,  and  always  cheer- 
ful, but  I won’t  have  you.  I can’t  live  on  fourteen  shillings 
a week,  and  I won’t  live  in  the  country  where  there  is  no- 
thing going  on,  but  cows  calving  and  turnips  growing. 
There  is  no  wickedness  in  either,  and  wickedness  makes 
life  various  and  enjoyable.  I can  read  and  write  and 
cypher,  and  am  tired  of  work  accordingly.  I want  to 
enjoy  myself.  There  is  mistress  ! ” she  exclaimed,  stood 
up,  stepped  aside,  missed  her  footing,  and  fell  to  the  bottom 
of  the  steps. 

“ Oh,  Tamsin,  if  only  you  had  let  me  hold  you  ! ” cried 
Archelaus,  and  ran  down  to  raise  her.  “ Then  you  would 
not  have  fallen.”  She  had  sprained  her  foot  and  could 

only  limp. 


CHAPTER  X. 


“SABINA  GREEN.” 

In  the  four-hundred-and-thirty-fir.st  number  of  the  Spectato? 
is  a letter  from  Sabina  Green,  on  the  disordered  appetite 
she  had  acquired  by  eating  improper  and  innutritious  food 
at  school.  “ I had  not  been  there  above  a Month,  when 
being  in  the  Kitchen,  I saw  some  Oatmeal  on  the  Dresser ; 
I put  two  or  three  Corns  in  my  Mouth,  liked  it,  stole  a 
Handful,  went  into  my  Chamber,  chewed  it,  and  for  two 
Months  after  never  failed  taking  Toll  of  every  Pennyworth 
of  Oatmeal  that  came  into  the  House.  But  one  Day  play- 
ing with  a Tobacco-pipe  between  my  Teeth,  it  happened  to 
break  in  my  Mouth,  and  the  spitting  out  the  Pieces  left 
such  a delicious  Roughness  on  my  Tongue,  that  I could 
not  be  satisfied  till  I had  champed  up  the  remaining  Part 
of  the  Pipe.  I forsook  the  Oatmeal,  and  stuck  to  the 
Pipes  three  Months,  in  which  time  I had  disposed  of  thirty- 
seven  foul  Pipes,  all  to  the  Boles.  I left  off  eating  of  Pipes 
and  fell  to  licking  of  Chalk.  Two  Months  after  this,  I 
lived  upon  Thunderbolts,  a certain  long,  round,  bluish 
Stone,  which  I found  among  the  Gravel  in  our  Garden.” 
Arminell’s  mental  appetite  was  as  much  disordered  as 
the  physical  appetite  of  Sabina  Green.  Whether  Gaboriau’s 
novels  bore  any  analogy  to  the  foul  tobacco-pipes,  we  do 
pretend  to  say,  their  record  of  vice  certainly  left  an  agree- 
able roughness  on  her  mental  palate,  but  now  without  any 
intermediate  licking  of  chalk,  she  has  clenched  her  teeth 


ARMINELL 


87 


upon  a thunderbolt — a question  hard,  in-soluble,  beyond 
her  powers  of  mastication.  Besides,  she  was  wholly  un- 
aware that  the  thunderbolt  had  been  laid  in  her  path  ex- 
pressly that  she  might  exercise  her  teeth  upon  it. 

A hundred  and  fifty  years  ago,  Sabina  Green  picked 
corns,  licked  chalk  and  munched  tobacco  pipes,  and  the 
same  thing  goes  on  nowadays.  There  are  tens  of  thousands 
of  Sabina  Greens  with  their  mouths  full,  and  with  no  ap- 
petite but  for  tobacco-pipes  or  thunderbolts.  We  have 
advanced — our  pipes  are  now  meerschaum — foam  ot  the 
sea. 

We  have  known  young  ladies  who  would  touch  nothing 
but  meringues,  and  thereby  seriously  impair  their  constitu- 
tions and  complexions.  We  have  known  others  who  could 
touch  nothing  but  literary  meringues,  novels,  and  whose 
digestion  revolted  at  solid  food,  but  who  crunched  flum- 
mery romance  at  all  times  of  day  and  night,  till  the  flum- 
mery invaded  their  brains,  filled  their  mouths,  frothed  in 
their  hearts  ; and  then  tired  of  sweets  they  look  out  for 
what  is  pungent  or  foul — like  the  old  tobacco-pipes. 

An  unwholesome  trick  into  which  German  women  fall  is 
that  of  “ naschen,”  of  nibbling  comfits  and  cakes  all  day 
long.  They  carry  cornets  of  bonbons  in  their  pockets,  and 
have  recourse  to  them  every  minute.  They  suffer  much 
from  disordered  digestion,  and  fall  into  the  green  sickness, 
because  they  lack  iron  in  the  blood.  How  can  they  have 
iron  in  the  blood  when  they  eat  only  sugar?  Our  English 
girls  have  a similar  infirmity,  they  nibble  at  novels,  pick  at 
the  unsubstantial,  innutritious  stuff  that  constitutes  fiction 
all  day  long.  Do  they  lack  iron  in  their  moral  fibre? 
Are  their  souls  bloodless  and  faint  with  the  green  sickness  ? 
How  can  it  be  other  on  a diet  of  flummery. 

The  stomach  of  the  nibbler  never  hungers,  only  craves ; 
the  appetite  is  supplanted  by  nausea.  The  symptoms  of 
disorder  are  permanent ; languor  of  interest,  debility  of 


88 


ARMINELL. 


principle,  loss  of  energy  in  purpose,  a disordered  vision,  and 

creeping  moral  paralysis. 

If  Arminell  had  reached  the  condition  of  one  of  these 
novel-nibblers,  what  she  had  heard  would  have  produced  no 
effect  upon  her  heart  or  brain  because  neither  heart  nor 
brain  would  have  been  left  in  her.  But  she  had  not  been 
a habitual  novel-reader,  she  had  read  whatever  came  to 
hand,  indiscriminately ; and  the  flummery  of  mere  fiction 
would  never  have  satisfied  her,  because  she  possessed,  what 
the  novel-nibblers  do  not  possess,  intelligence.  No  con- 
trol had  been  exercised  over  her  reading,  consequently  she 
had  read  things  that  were  unsuitable.  She  had  a strong 
character,  without  having  found  outlets  for  her  energy.  A 
wise  governess  would  have  tested  her,  and  then  led  her  to 
.pursuits  which  would  have  exerted  her  ambition  and  occu- 
pied her  interest;  but  her  teachers  had  been  either  weeded 
to  routine  or  intellectually  her  inferiors.  Consequently  she 
had  no  special  interests,  but  that  inner  eagerness  and  fire 
which  would  impel  her  to  take  up  and  follow  with  enthu- 
siasm any  object  which  excited  her  interest.  Her  friends 
said  of  Arminell  with  unanimity  that  she  was  a disagreeable 
girl,  but  none  said  she  was  an  empty-headed  one. 

On  reaching  the  house,  Arminell  found  that  lunch  was 
over,  and  that  her  father  had  gone  out.  He  had  sauntered 
forth,  as  the  day  was  fine,  to  look  at  his  cedars  and  pines 
in  the  plantations,  and  with  his  pocket-knife  remove  the 
lateral  shoots.  Lady  Lamerton  was  taking  a nap  previous 
to  the  resumption  of  her  self-imposed  duties  at  Sunday- 
school. 

Arminell  was  indisposed  to  go  to  school  and  afternoon 
service  in  the  church.  After  a solitary  lunch  she  went  up- 
stairs to  the  part  of  the  house  where  was  Giles’  school-room. 
She  had  not  seen  her  brother  that  day,  and  as  the  little 
i lk  w was  unwell,  she  thought  it  incumbent  on  her  to  visit 
him. 


ARMINELL.  ' 


80 


She  found  the  tutor,  Giles  Inglctt  (vulgo,  Jingles)  Saltren, 
in  the  room  with  the  boy.  Little  Giles  had  a Noah’s  Ark 
on  the  table,  and  was  trying  to  make  the  animals  stand  on 
their  infirm  legs,  in  procession,  headed  by  the  dove  which 
was  as  large  as  the  dog,  and  half  the  size  of  the  elephant. 

Mr.  Saltren  sat  by  the  window  looking  forth  discon- 
solately. The  child  had  a heavy  cold,  accompanied  by 
some  fever. 

“ If  you  wish  to  leave  the  school-room,  Mr.  Saltren,”  said 
Arminell,  “ I am  prepared  to  occupy  your  place  with  the 
captive.” 

“ I thank  you,  Miss  Inglett,”  answered  the  tutor.  “ But 
I have  strict  orders  to  go  through  the  devotional  exercises 
with  Giles  this  afternoon,  the  same  as  this  morning.” 

“ I will  take  them  for  you.” 

“ You  are  most  kind  in  offering,  but  having  been  set  my 
tale  of  bricks  to  make  without  straw,  I am  not  justified  in 
sending  another  into  the  clayfield,  in  my  room.” 

“ I see — this  is  a house  of  bondage  to  you,  Mr.  Saltren. 
You  hinted  this  morning  that  you  meditated  an  in  exitu 
Is?'ael  de  Egypto .” 

The  young  man  coloured. 

“ You  tread  too  sharply  on  the  heels  of  the  pic'd  de  la 
lettre , Miss  Inglett.” 

“ But  you  feel  this,  though  you  shrink  from  the  expres- 
sion of  your  thoughts.  You  told  me  yourself  this  forenoon 
that  you  were  not  happy.  If  you  leave  us,  whither  do  you 
propose  going  ? ” 

“ A journey  in  the  wilderness  for  forty  years.” 

“ With  what  Land  of  Promise  in  view  ? ” 

“ I have  set  none  before  me.” 

“ None  ? I cannot  credit  that.  Every  man  has  his  Land 
of  Promise  towards  which  he  turns  his  face.  Why  leave 
the  leeks  and  onions  of  Goshen,  if  you  have  but  a stony 
desert  in  view  as  your  pasture?  I suppose  the  heart  is  a 


90 


ARM1NELL. 


binnacle  with  its  needle  pointing  to  the  pole — though  each 
man  may  have  a different  pole.  South  of  the  equator,  the 
needle  points  reversedly  to  what  it  pointed  north  of  it.  An 
anchor,  an  iron  link,  a nail  even  may  divert  the  needle,  but 
to  something  it  must  turn.” 

“ Miss  Inglett — had  Moses  any  personal  hope  to  reach 
and  establish  himself  in  the  land  flowing  with  milk  and 
honey,  when  he  led  Israel  from  the  brick-kilns  ? He  was 
to  die  within  sight  of  the  land,  and  not  to  set  foot  thereon.” 
“ But,  Mr.  Saltren  ; who  are  your  Israel  ? Where  are  the 
brick-kilns  ? Who  are  the  oppressors  ? ” 

“ Can  you  ask?”  The  tutor  paused  and  looked  at  the 
girl.  “ But  I suppose  you  fail  to  see  that  the  whole  of  the 
civilised  world  is  an  Egypt,  in  which  some  are  taskmasters 
and  others  slaves ; some  enjoy  and  others  suffer.  Miss 
Inglett — you  have  somehow  invited  my  confidence,  and  I 
cannot  withhold  it.  It  is  quite  impossible  that  the  world 
can  go  on  as  it  has  been,  with  one  class  drawing  to  itself  all 
that  life  has  to  offer  of  happiness,  and  another  class  doomed 
to  toil  and  hunger  and  sweat,  and  have  nothing  of  the  light 
and  laughter  of  life.” 

Arminell  seated  herself. 

“Well,”  she  said,  “as  Giles  is  playing  with  his  wooden 
animals,  trotting  out  the  contents  of  his  ark;  let  us  turn 
out  some  of  the  strange  creatures  .that  are  stuffed  in  our 
skulls,  and  marshal  them.  I have  been  opening  the  window 
of  my  ark  to-day,  and  sending  forth  enquiries,  but  not  a 
blade  of  olive  has  been  brought  to  me.” 

“ As  for  the  ark  of  my  head,”  said  the  tutor,  with  a bitter 
smile,  “ it  is  the  reverse  of  that  of  Noah.  He  sent  forth 
raven  and  dove,  and  the  dove  returned,  but  the  raven  re- 
mained abroad.  With  me,  the  dark  thoughts  fly  over  the 
flood  and  come  home  to  roost ; the  dove-like  ones — never.” 
“I  am  rather  disposed,”  said  Arminell,  laughing,  “to 
liken  my  head  to  a rookery  in  May.  The  matured  thoughts 


ARMINELL. 


91 


are  z t-v  ’sag  and  wheeling,  and  the  just  fledged  ones  stand 
cawing  at  the  edge  of  their  nests,  with  fluttering  wings, 
afraid  to  tly,  and  afraid  to  stay' and  be  shot.” 

“ To  be  shot  ? — by  whom  ? ” 

“Perhaps,  by  your  wit.  Perhaps  by  my  lord’s  blunderbuss.” 
“ I will  not  \e\H  any  of  my  poor  wit  at  them.  Let  your 
thoughts  hop  foith  boldly  that  I may  have  a sight  of  them.’’ 
An  exclamation'  of  distress  from  Giles. 

“What  is  the  matter?”  asked  Arminell,  turning  to  her 
brother. 

“The  giraffe  has  broken  his  leg,  and  I want  him  to  stand 
because  he  has  such  a long  neck.” 

“If  you  were  manly,  Giles,  you  would  not  say,  the  giraffe 
has  broken  his  leg,  but — I Lave  broken  the  giraffe’s  leg.” 

“ But  I did  not,  Armie.  He  had  been  packed  too  tightly 
with  the  other  beasts,  and  his  leg  was  so  bent  that  it  broke.” 
“ Mend  it  with  glue,”  she  ad  rised. 

“ I can’t — it  is  wrong  to  mt.lt  glue  on  Sunday.  Mamma 
would  not  like  it.” 

The  conversation  had  been  broken  along  with  the  giraffe’s 
leg,  and  neither  Arminell  nor  young  Saltren  resumed  it  for 
some  time.  Presently  the  girl  said,  “Mr.  Saltren,  do  you 
know  what  sort  of  men  Addison  called  Fribblers?  They 
are  among  men  what  flirts  are  among  women,  drawing  girls 
on  and  then  disappointing  them.  There  are  plenty  of  flirts 
and  fribblers  in  other  matters.  There  are  flirts  and  fribblers 
with  great  social  and  religious  questions,  who  play  with 
them,  trifle  with  them,  hover  about  them,  simulate  a lively 
interest  in  them,  and  then — when  you  expect  of  them  a 
decision  and  action  on  that  decision,  away  they  fly  in 
another  direction,  and  shake  all  interest  and  inquiry  out  of 
their  thoughts.  I have  no  patience  with  such  flirts  or 
fribblers.”  She  spoke  with  a little  bitterness.  She  was 
thinking  of  her  step-mother.  The  tutor  knew  it,  but  did 
not  allow  her  to  see  that  he  did. 


92 


ArminelL. 


“Do  you  not  think/*  he  said,  “that  they  fribble  from  a 
sense  of  incompetence  to  grapple  with  these  questions? 
The  problems  interest  them  up  to  a certain  point.  rl  hen 
they  see  that  they  are  too  large  for  them,  or  they  entail 
consequences  they  shrink  from  accepting,  consequences 
that  will  cost  them  too  dear,  and  they  withdraw/’ 

“ Like  the  young  man  in  the  Gospel  who  went  away 
sorrowful  for  he  had  great  possessions.  He  was  a fribb’er.” 
“ Exactly.  He  was  a fribbler.  He  was  insincere  and 
unheroic.” 

“ I could  not  fribble,”  said  Arminell,  vehemently.  “ If 
I see  that  a cause  is  right,  I must  pursue  it  at  whatsoever 
consequence  to  myself.  It  is  of  the  essence  of  humdrum 
to  fribble.  Do  you  know,  Mr.  Saltren,  I have  had  a 
puzzling  problem  set  before  me  to-day,  and  I shall  have  no 
rest  till  I have  worked  it  out?  Why  is  there  so  much 
wretchedness,  so  much  inequality  in  the  world  ? ” 

“Why  was  Giles’  giraffe’s  leg  broken  ?” 

Arminell  looked  at  him  with  surprise,  suspecting  that  in- 
stead of  answering  her,  he  was  about  to  turn  off  the  subject 
with  a joke. 

“The  world,”  said  Saltren,  ‘is  like  Giles’  Noah’s  Ark, 
packed  full — over  lull — of  creatures  of  all  kinds,  and  packed 
so  badly  that  they  impinge  on,  bruise,  and  break  each  other. 
Not  only  is  the  giraffe’s  leg  broken,  but  so  are  the  rim  of 
Noah’s  hat,  and  the  ear  of  the  sheep,  and  the  tusk  of  the 
elephant.  It  is  a congeries  of  cripples.  We  may  change 
their  order,  and  we  only  make  fresh  abrasions.  The  pro- 
boscis of  the  elephant  runs  into  the  side  of  the  lamb,  and 
Noah’s  hat  has  been  knocked  off  by  the  tail  of  the  raven. 
However  you  may  assort  the  beasts,  however  carefully  you 
may  pack  them,  you  cannot  prevent  their  doing  each  other 
damage.” 

Mr.  Saltren  turned  to  little  Giles  and  said  : — 

“ Bring  us  your  box  of  bricks,  my  boy.” 


ARMINELL.  93 

“ It  is  Sunday,”  answered  the  child.  “ Mamma  would 
not  wish  me  to  play  with  them.” 

“ I do  not  wish  to  make  a Sabbath-breaker  of  you,’ 
answered  the  tutor,  “ nor  are  your  sister  and  I going  to  dc 
other  than  build  Babel  with  them — which  is  permissible  o / 
a Sunday.” 

The  little  boy  slid  off  his  seat,  went  to  his  cupboard,  and 
speedily  produced  the  required  box,  which  he  gave  to  Mr 
Saltren. 

The  tutor  drew  forth  the  lid.  The  bricks  were  all  in 
place  compacted  in  perfect  order. 

Then  he  said,  with  half-sneer,  half-laugh,  “ There  are  no 
gaps  between  them.  The  whole  assemblage  firm  as  it  were 
one  block.  Not  a breakage  anywhere,  not  room  for  a 
breakage.” 

“ No,”  said  Arminell,  “ of  course  not.  They  all  fit  exactly 
because  they  are  all  cubes.  The  bricks,”  she  laughed, 
“ have  no  long  necks  like  the  giraffe,  or  legs  or  horns,  or 
proboscis,  or  broad-brimmed  hats,  liable  to  be  broken.  Of 
course  they  fit  together.” 

“ If  you  shake  the  ark — the  least  concussion  produces  a 
breakage,  one  or  two  beasts  suffer.  You  may  toss  the  box 
of  bricks  about ; and  nothing  is  hurt.  Why  ? ” 

Arminell  was  impatient.  “Of  course  the  reason  is 
plain.” 

“The  reason  is  plain.  The  bricks  are  all  equal.  If  it 
were  so  in  the  world  of  men,  there  would  be  no  jars,  no 
fractures,  no  abrasions,  but  concord,  compactness,  peace.” 

Arminell  said  nothing.  She  closed  her  eyes  and  sat 
looking  at  the  bricks,  then  at  the  animals  Giles  had  arranged. 

The  tutor  said  no  more,  but  his  eyes,  bright  and  eager, 
were  on  the  girl’s  face. 

Presently  Arminell  had  gathered  her  thoughts  together 
sufficiently  to  speak. 

“That,  then,  is  the  solution  you  offer  to  my  problem. 


94 


ARM  IN  ELL. 


But  to  me  it  does  not  seem  solved.  There  the  animals 
are.  They  are  animals' — and  not  bricks. ” 

“ They  are  animals,  true,  but  they  must  be  shaken  and 
shaken  t gether,  till  all  their  excrescences  are  rubbed  away, 
and  then  they  will  fit  together  and  find  sufficiency  of  room. 
That  is  how  marbles  are  made.  Shapeless  masses  of  stone 
are  put  in  a bag  and  rattled  till  all  their  edges  and  angles 
are  rattled  off," 

“ What  an  ark  would  remain  ! You  complain  of  some 
animals  crippling  others,  this  scheme  of  yours  would  involve 
a universal  mutilation — the  animals  resolved  into  undis- 
tinguishable,  shapeless,  uninteresting  trunks.  The  only 
creature  that  would  come  out  scatheless  would  be  the  slug. 
All  the  rest  would  be  levelled  down  to  the  condition  of  that 
creature — which  is  a digesting  tube,  and  nothing  more." 
Then  Arminell  stood  up.  “ It  is  time  for  me  to  be  off," 
she  said;  “her  ladyship  will  be  back  from  church,  and  oh! 
Mr.  Saltren,  I have  interfered  with  the  Psalms  and 
Lessons." 


CHAPTER  XL 


IN  THE  AVENUE. 

According  to  the  classic  story,  the  Sphinx  demanded  of  all 
who  visited  her  the  solution  of  an  enigma — and  that  enigma 
was  Man. 

Suddenly,  unexpectedly,  on  a quiet  ordinary  Sunday 
morning,  Arminell,  a young  girl  without  experience,  had 
been  confronted  with  the  Sphinx,  and  set  the  same  enigma, 
an  enigma  involving  others,  like  toe  perforated  Chinese 
puzzle-balls,  an  enigma  that  has  been  essayed  and  answered 
repeatedly,  yet  always  remains  insoluble,  that,  as  it  has 
assumed  fresh  aspects,  has  developed  new  perplexities. 
Arminell  had  been  wearied  with  the  routine  and  restraint  of 
social  life,  its  commonplace  duties  and  conventionalities, 
and  had  been  fired  with  that  generous  though  mistaken  dis- 
like to  the  insincerities  and  formalities  of  civilisation,  so 
often  found  among  the  young — generous,  because  bred  of 
truth  ; mistaken,  because  it  ignores  the  fact  that  the  insin- 
cerities impose  on  no  one,  and  the  formalities  are  made  of 
mutual  compromises,  such  as  render  life,  social  life, 
possible. 

Arminell  was  in  this  rebellious  mood,  when  she  was 
brought  face  to  face  with  a problem  beyond  her  powers  to 
unravel.  She  might  as  well,  with  a rudimentary  knowledge 
of  algebraic  symbols,  have  been  set  to  work  out  Euler’s 
proof  of  the  Binomial  Theorem.  She  was  like  Fatima  when 
she  opened  Blue-Beard’s  secret  chamber,  and  saw  in  it  an 


96 


ARMINELL. 


array  of  victims.  Of  these  victims  disclosed  to  her,  one 
was  Jingles,  another  Patience  Kite  ; then  came  Captain 
Saltren  and  his  wife  ; and  next  hung  in  the  dismal  cabinet 
of  horrors,  Samuel  Ceely  and  Joan  Melhuish.  The  world 
was  indeed  a Blue-Beard’s  room.  If  you  but  turned  the 
key  you  saw  an  array  of  misery  and  tearful  faces,  and  hearts 
with  blood  distilling  from  them.  It  was  more  than  that — it 
was  a box  with  a Jack  in  it.  She  had  touched  the  spring, 
and  a monster  had  flown  up  in  her  face,  not  to  be  com- 
pressed and  buttoned  down  again. 

How  could  the  facts  of  existence  be  reconciled  with  the 
idea  of  Divine  Justice?  On  one  side  were  men  and  women 
born  to  wealth  and  position  and  happiness ; on  the  other, 
men  and  women  denied  the  least  of  the  blessings  of  life. 
Why  were  some  of  God’s  creatures  petted  and  pampered, 
and  others  kicked  about  and  maltreated  ? Was  the  world 
of  men  so  made  from  the  beginning,  or  had  things  so  come 
about  through  man’s  mismanagement,  and  if  so,  where  was 
the  over-ruling  Providence  which  governed  the  world  ? 
When  the  Noah’s  Ark  arrived  new  from  the  great  toy-shop 
whence  issue  the  planets  and  spheres,  were  all  the  figures 
round  and  fitted  together,  only  afterwards  in  the  rearrange- 
ment to  impinge  on  and  mutilate  each  other?  Or  had  they 
been  all  alike  in  the  beginning  and  had  developed  their 
horns  and  proboscises,  their  tusks  and  broad-brimmed  hats? 
Life  is  a sort  of  pantomime,  that  begins  with  a fairy  tale, 
leads  to  a transformation  scene,  and  ends,  perhaps,  with 
low  comedy.  In  a moment  when  we  least  expect  it,  ensues 
a blaze  of  light,  a spectacular  arrangement  of  performers, 
and  then,  away  fall  the  trappings  of  splendour,  and  forth, 
from  under  them,  leap  out  harlequin,  clown,  and  pantaloon. 
The  knights  cast  off  their  silver  armour,  the  fairies  shed 
their  gauzy  wings,  kings  and  queens  depose  their  crowns 
and  sceptres,  and  there  are  revealed  to  us  ordinary  men  and 
women,  with  streaks  of  paint  on  their  faces,  and  patches  of 


ARMINELL.  97 

powder  in  their  hair,  perpetrating  dismal  jokes,  the  point  of 
which  we  fancy  is  levelled  at  ourselves. 

To  some  men  and  women  the  transformation  scene 
arrives  late  in  life,  but  to  all  inevitably  at  some  time ; and 
then  when  the  scene  on  the  stage  before  us  is  changed,  a 
greater  transformation  ensues  within. 

When  we  were  children  we  believed  that  everything 
glittering  was  gold,  that  men  were  disinterested  and  women 
sincere.  The  transformation  scene  came  on  us,  perhaps 
with  coruscations  of  light  and  grouping  of  colours  and 
actors,  perhaps  without,  and  went  by,  leaving  us  mistrustful 
of  every  person,  doubtful  of  everything,  sceptical,  cynical, 
disenchanted.  Is  not — to  take  a crucial  case — marriage 
itself  a grand  transformation  scene  that  closes  the  idyl  of 
youth,  and  opens  the  drama  of  middle  age  ? We  live  for  a 
while  in  a fairy  world,  the  flowers  blaze  with  the  most 
brilliant  colours,  the  air  is  spiced  as  the  breezes  of  Ceylon, 
angels  converse  with  men,  and  sing  aethereal  music,  manna 
floats  down  from  heaven,  containing  in  itself  all  sweetness  ; 
sun  and  moon  stand  still  o'er  us,  over  against  each  other, 
not  to  witness  a conflict,  as  of  old  in  Ajalon,  but  to  brighten 
and  prolong  the  day  of  glamour.  Then  the  bride  appears 
before  us,  as  Eve  appeared  to  Adam,  unutterably  beautiful 
and  perfect  and  innocent,  and  we  kneel  in  a rapture,  and 
dare  not  breathe,  dare  not  speak,  nor  stir;  and  swoon  in  an 
ecstasy  of  wonder  and  adoration. 

Then  tingle  the  marriage  bells.  The  transformation 
scene  is  well  set  with  bridesmaids  and  orange-blossoms,  and 
a wedding  breakfast,  postboys  with  favours,  and  a shower 
of  rice,  and  then—? 

The  fairy  tale  is  over.  The  first  part  of  the  pantomime  is 
over.  The  colours  have  lost  their  brilliancy,  the  flowers 
shrivel,  the  scents  are  resolved  into  smells  of  everyday  life, 
broiled  bacon,  cabbage  water,  and  the  light  is  eclipsed  as  by  a 
November  fog.  The  men  for  the  way-rate,  the  water-rate,  and 

o 


98 


ARMINELL. 


the  gas-rate  are  urgent  to  have  a word  with  us.  There  descend 
on  our  table  at  every  quarter  most  bitter  bills—  those  of  the 
butcher  and  the  green-grocer,  the  milliner’s  little  account, 
and  the  heavy  itemless  bill  from  the  doctor.  What  shall 
we  say  about  our  Eve,  the  beautiful,  the  all-but  divine,  the 
ideal  woman  ? The  all-but  divine  turns  out  to  have  a 
touchy  temper  and  a twanging  tongue,  falls  out  with  her 
cook,  dismisses  her,  and  consequently  serves  you  cold 
mutton  and  underboiled  potatoes. 

The  transformation  is  complete,  and  how  does  it  leave 
us  ? In  a rage  at  our  folly  ? Cursing  our  idealism  ? 
Rasped  and  irritable  ? Withdrawing  more  and  more  from 
the  society  of  our  Eve,  and  our  Eden  turned  to  an  espalier 
garden,  to  our  club  ? So  it  is  in  many  cases.  The  trans- 
formation scene  is  a trial,  and  certain  ones  there  are  that 
never  recover  the  shock  of  disenchantment ; but  there  are 
others,  on  the  other  hand,  who  endure,  and  to  them  comes 
in  the  end  a reward.  These  continue  to  sit  in  their  box, 
listless,  paring  their  nails,  turning  the  programme  face  down- 
wards. Half  contemptuously,  wholly  void  of  interest,  they 
lend  a dull  ear  to  what  follows,  and  look  on  with  a wonder- 
ing eye,  convinced  that  the  rest  is  farce  and  buffoonery  and 
a vexation  of  spirit,  which  must  however  be  sat  through  ; 
then,  little  by  little  fresh  interests  arise,  tiny  new  actors 
invade  the  stage,  with  sweet  but  feeble  voices,  saying  no- 
thing of  point,  yet  full  of  poetry.  The  magic  begins  to 
work  once  more,  the  little  fingers  weave  a spell  that  lays 
hold  of  heart  and  brain,  and  conjures  up  a new  world  of 
fantasy.  The  flowers  re-open  and  flush  with  colour,  the 
balmy  air  fans  our  jaded  faces,  again  the  songs  of  angels 
reach  our  ears,  the  clouds  dispel,  the  manna  falls,  Eve 
resumes  her  beauty,  not  the  old  beauty  of  childlike  inno- 
cence and  freshness,  but  that  of  ripened  womanhood,  of 
sweet  maternity,  of  self-command  and  self-devotion. 

We  sit  hushed  with  our  head  in  our  hands,  and  look  with 


ARMINELL. 


99 


intense  eye,  and  listen  with  sharpened  ear,  and  the  tears 
rise  and  run  down  our  cheeks.  We  have  forgotten  the  old 
Eden  with  its  fantastic  imaginations,  in  the  more  matured, 
the  richer,  the  fuller,  and  above  all  the  more  real  paradise 
that  is  now  revealed. 

In  the  case  of  Arminell  Inglett  there  was  no  enchantment 
of  colour,  no  setting  of  tableau,  for  the  transformation 
scene ; it  came  on  her  suddenly  but  also  quietly.  In  one 
day,  on  a quiet  country  Sunday,  when  she  walked  out  of 
the  dull  and  stuffy  school,  she  passed,  as  it  were,  through  a 
veil,  out  of  childland  into  the  realm  of  Sphinx. 

In  the  evening,  after  a dull  dinner,  instead  of  remaining  in 
the  drawing-room  with  my  lady,  who  had  taken  up  a 
magazine,  Arminell  put  a shawl  over  her  head  and  shoulders, 
went  forth  into  the  garden,  and  thence  to  the  avenue. 

The  evening  was  pleasantly  warm,  the  weather  beautiful ; 
beneath  the  trees  the  dew  did  not  fall  heavily.  A new 
moon  was  shining.  The  girl  thought  over  what  she  had 
heard  and  seen  that  day — over  the  troubles  and  wrongs  of 
Captain  Saltren,  driven  from  his  occupation,  and  yet  chained 
to  the  house  that  was  his  own,  and  with  which  he  would  not 
part ; over  the  defiant  scepticism  of  Patience  Kite,  at  war 
in  heart  with  God  and  man  ; over  the  suffering  lives  of 
Samuel  and  Joan,  united  in  heart,  yet  severed  by  fate,  look- 
ing to  a common  grave  as  the  marriage  bed,  and  Arminell 
felt  almost  contempt  for  these  latter,  because  they  accepted 
their  lot  without  resentment.  She  thought  over  what  young 
Mr.  Saltren  had  said  about  his  own  position,  and  she  was 
able  to  understand  that  it  was  one  of  difficulty  and  discom- 
fort. 

Then  she  turned  her  mind  to  the  Sunday-school,  where, 
whilst  outside  of  it,  within  the  narrow  confines  of  Orleigh 
parish,  there  was  so  much  of  trouble  and  perplexity,  my 
lady  was  placidly  teaching  the  children  to  recite  as  parrots 
the  names  of  the  books  of  the  Apocrypha,  which  they  were 


TOO 


ARMINELL. 


not  to  read  for  the  establishment  of  doctrine,  and  Captain 
Tubb  was  enunciating  arrant  nonsense  about  the  names  of 
the  Sundays  preceding  Lent. 

The  avenue  was  composed  of  ancient  oaks.  It  was 
reached  from  the  garden,  which  intervened  between  the 
house  and  it.  The  avenue  was  not  perfectly  in  line, 
because  the  lay  of  the  land  did  not  admit  of  its  being 
carried  at  great  length  without  a curve,  following  the  slope 
of  the  hill  that  rose  above  it,  and  fell  away  below  in  park- 
land to  the  river. 

The  walk  was  gravelled  with  white  spar.  It  commanded 
an  exquisite  view  down  the  valley  of  the  Ore,  over  rich 
meadow-land  and  pasture,  dotted  with  clumps  of  trees, 
beech,  chestnut,  and  Scotch  pine.  A line  of  alders 
marked  the  course  of  the  river,  to  where,  by  means  of  a 
dam,  it  had  been  widened  into  a lake.  On  the  further  side 
of  the  river,  the  ground  gently  rose  in  grassy  sweeps  to  the 
wooded  hills.  To  the  south-west  the  river  wound  away 
about  shoulders  of  richly-clothed  hills,  closing  in  on  each 
other,  fold  on  fold.  The  avenue  was  most  delightful  in  the 
evening  when  the  setting  sun  gilded  the  valley  with  its 
slant  beams,  turned  the  trunks  of  the  pines  scarlet,  and  cast 
the  shadows  of  the  park  trees  a purple  blue  on  the  illumin- 
ated grass. 

Oaks  do  not  readily  accommodate  themselves  to  form 
avenues,  they  are  contorted,  gnarled,  consequently  oak 
avenues  are  rarely  met  with.  That  at  Orleigh  had  the 
charm  of  being  uncommon. 

The  evening  was  still,  the  sky  was  full  of  light,  so  much 
so  that  the  stars  hardly  showed.  The  light  spread  as  a veil 
from  the  north,  from  behind  the  Orleigh  woods,  and 
reflected  itself  in  the  dew  that  bathed  the  grass.  Arminell 
was  attached  to  this  walk,  in  great  measure  because  she 
could  at  almost  all  times  saunter  in  it  undisturbed. 

She  had  not,  however,  on  this  occasion,  been  in  it  half 


ARMINELL. 


TOI 


an  hour,  before  she  saw  her  father  coming  to  her.  He  had 
left  his  wine ; there  were,  as  it  happened,  no  guests  in  the 
house,  and  he  and  the  tutor  had  not  many  topics  in 
common. 

“ Well,  Armie ! ” he  said,  “ I have  come  out  to  have  a 
cigar,  and  lean  on  you.  My  lady  told  me  I should  find 
you  here.” 

“ And,  papa,  I am  so  glad  you  have  come,  for  I want  to 
have  a word  with  you.” 

“About  what,  child?”  Lord  Lame  ton  was  a direct 
man — a man  in  his  position  muT  be  direct  to  get  through 
all  the  business  that  falls  to  him,  business  which  he  cannot 
escape  from,  however  much  he  may  desire  it. 

“Papa,”  said  Arminell,  “it  is  about  the  Saltrens.” 

“ What  about  them  ? ” 

“ If  you  give  up  the  manganese — what  is  Captain  Saltren 
to  do  ? ” 

“ Stephen  will  find  work  somewhere,  never  fear.” 

“ But  he  cannot  leave  his  house.” 

“ That  he  will  have  to  sell ; the  railway  company  want 
to  cross  Chillacombe  at  that  point.  He  will  get  a good 
price,  far  beyond  the  value  of  the  house  and  plot  of  land.” 

“ Papa — must  the  manganese  be  given  up  ? ” 

“ Of  course  it  must.  I have  no*  intention  of  allowing 
myself  to  be  undermined.” 

“ But  it  is  so  cruel  to  the  men  who  worked  on  it.” 

“ Manganese  no  longer  pays  for  working.  There  ha 
been  a loss  on  the  mine  for  the  last  five  years.  We  are 
driven  out  of  the  market  by  the  Eiffel  manganese.  The 
Germans  work  at  less  wage,  and  our  men  refuse  to  have 
their  wage  reduced.” 

“ But  what  are  the  miners  to  do  ? ” 

“ They  were  given  warning  that  the  mine  would  be 
closed,  as  long  as  five  years  ago ; and  the  warning  has  been 
renewed  every  year  since.  They  have  known  that  they 


102 


ARMINELL. 


must  seek  employment  elsewhere.  They  will  have  to  go 
after  work,  work  will  not  come  to  them — it  is  the  same  in 
every  trade.  All  businesses  are  liable  to  fluctuations,  some 
to  extinction.  When  the  detonating  cap  was  invented,  the 
old  trade  of  flint  chipping  on  the  Sussex  downs  began  to 
languish ; with  the  discovery  of  the  lucifer  match  it  ex- 
pired altogether.  When  adhesive  envelopes  were  intro- 
duced, the  wafer-makers  and  sealing-wax  makers  were 
thrown  out  of  work,  and  the  former  trade  was  killed  out- 
right. I was  wont  to  harvest  oak-bark  annually,  and  put 
many  hundreds  of  pounds  in  my  pocket.  Now  the 
Americans  have  superseded  tan  by  some  chemical  com- 
position, and  there  is  no  further  sale  for  bark.  I am  so 
many  hundreds  of  pounds  the  poorer.” 

“Yes,  papa,  that  is  true  enough,  but  you  have  a resisting 
power  in  you  that  others  have  not.  You  have  your  rents 
and  other  sources  of  income  to  fall  back  on  ; these  poor 
tradesmen  and  miners  and  artizans  have  none.  I have  read 
that  in  Manitoba  the  secret  of  the  magnificent  corn  crops  is 
found  in  this,  that  the  ground  is  frozen  in  winter  many  feet 
deep,  and  remains  frozen  in  the  depths  all  summer,  but 
gradually  thaws  and  sends  up  from  below  the  released 
water  to  nourish  the  roots  of  the  wheat,  which  are  thus  fed 
by  an  unfailing  subterranean  fountain.  It  is  so  with  you, 
you  are  always  heavy  in  purse  and  flush  in  pocket,  because 
you  also  have  your  sources  always  oozing  up  under  your 
roots.” 

a My  dear  Armie,  my  subterranean  source — the  man- 
ganese—is  exhausted;  for  five  years  instead  of  being  a 
source  it  has  been  a sink.” 

“ Whereas,”  continued  Arminell,  “ the  poor  and  the 
artizan  lie  on  shelfy  rock,  with  shallow  soil  above  it.  A 
drought — a week  of  sun — and  they  are  parched  up  and 
perish.” 

" My  dear  girl,  the  analogy  is  false.  The  difference  be- 


ARMINELL. 


I03 


tween  us  is  between  the  rooted  and  the  movable  creature. 
Do  they  not  live  on  us,  eat  us,  consume  our  superfluity? 
We  are  vegetables — that  root  in  the  soil,  and  the  tradesmen 
and  artizans  nibble  and  browse  on  us.  The  richer  our  leaf, 
the  more  succulent  our  juices,  the  more  nutriment  we  supply 
to  them.  When  they  have  eaten  us  down  to  the  soil,  they 
move  off  to  other  pastures  and  nibble  and  browse  there. 
When  we  have  recovered,  and  send  up  fresh  shoots,  back 
they  come,  munch,  munch,  munch.  If  one  supply  fails, 
others  open.  There  is  equipoise — I dare  say  there  are 
twice  as  many  hands  employed  in  making  matches  and 
adhesive  envelopes  now,  as  there  were  of  old  chipping  flints 
and  making  wafers.” 

“ That  may  be,  but  the  drying  up  of  one  spring  before 
another  opens  must  cause  distress.  Where  is  that  other 
one,  that  the  necessitous  may  drink  of  it  ? Ishmael  was 
dying  of  thirst  in  the  desert  on  his  mother  Hagar’s  lap, 
within  a stone’s  throw  of  a well  of  which  neither  knew  till  it 
was  shown  them  by  an  angel.” 

“ Of  course  there  is  momentary  distress,  but  the  means 
of  locomotion  are  now  so  great  that  every  man  can  go  about 
in  quest  of  work.  Things  always  right  themselves  in  the 
end.” 

“ They  do  not  right  themselves  without  the  crushing  and 
killing  of  some  in  the  process.  Tell  me,  papa,  how  is  this 
to  be  explained  ? I have  to-day  encountered  two  poor 
creatures  who  have  loved  each  other  for  twenty  years,  and 
are  too  abject  in  their  poverty  to  be  able  even  now  to 
marry.  No  fault  of  either  accounts  for  this.  Accident, 
misfortune,  divide  them — such  things  ought  not  to  be.” 

“ But  they  are — they  cannot  be  helped.” 

“ They  ought  not  to  be — there  must  be  fault  somewhere 
Either  Providence  in  ruling  destinies  rules  them  crooked, 
or  the  social  arrangements  brought  about  by  civilization  aie 
to  blame.” 


io4 


ARMINELL. 


“ Here,  Armie,  I cannot  follow  you.  I am  content  with 
the  providential  ordering  of  the  world.” 

“ Of  course  you  are,  papa,  on  fifty  thousand  a year.” 

“ You  interrupt  me.  I say  I am  content  with  the  social 
structure  as  built  up  by  civilization.” 

“ I have  no  doubt  about  it — you  are  a peer.  But  what 
I want  to  know  is,  how  do  the  providential  and  social 
arrangements  look  to  the  Fredericks  with  the  Empty 
Pockets,  not  what  aspect  they  wear  to  Maximilian  and  Le 
Grand  Monarque.  Do  you  suppose  that  Captain  Saltren  is 
content  that  his  livelihood  should  be  snatched  from  him  ; 
or  Patience  Kite  that  her  father  and  mother  should  have 
died,  leaving  her  in  infancy  a waif ; or  Samuel  Ceely,  that 
he  should  have  blown  off  his  hand  and  blown  away  his  life’s 
happiness  with  it,  and  dislocated  his  hip  and  put  his  fortunes 
for  ever  out  of  joint  thereby,  so  as  to  be  for  ever  incapaci- 
tated from  making  himself  a home,  and  having  a wife  and 
little  children  to  cling  about  his  neck  and  call  him  father?  ” 
“ Old  Sam  was  not  all  he  ought  to  have  been  before  he 
met  with  his  accidents.” 

“ Nor  are  any  of  us  all  we  ought  to  be.  Papa,  why  should  it 
have  fallen  to  your  lot  to  have  two  wives,  and  Samuel 
Ceely  be  denied  even  one  ? ” 

“Upon  my  word,  Armie,  I cannot  tell.” 

“ I do  not  suppose  you  can  see  how  those  are  who  live  on 
the  north  side  of  the  hill  always  in  shade  and  covered  with 
mildew,  when  you  bask  on  the  south  side  always  in  sun 
where  the  strawberries  ripen  early,  and  the  roses  bloom  t< 
Christmas.” 

“ I beg  your  pardon,  child,  I have  had  my  privations. 
We  cannot  afford  to  go  to  town  this  season.  I have  had  to 
make  a reduction  in  my  rents  of  twenty  per  cent.  I get 
nothing  from  my  Irish  property,  cannot  sell  my  bark,  lose 
by  my  manganese.  Are  you  satisfied  ? ” 

“ No,  papa,  your  privations  are  loss  of  luxuries,  not  of 


ARMINELL. 


105 


necessaries.  Those  who  have  been  exposed  to  buffets  of 
fortune,  been  scourged  by  the  cynical  and  cruel  caprice 
which  rules  civilized  life,  will  rise  up  and  exact  their 
portions  of  life’s  pleasures  and  comforts.  They  will  say, — 
we  will  not  be  exposed  to  the  chance  of  being  full  to  day 
and  empty  to-morrow,  of  working  without  hope — like 
Samuel  and  Joan.” 

“ Sam  does  not  work.” 

“ That  is  the  fault  of  Providence  which  blew  off  his 
hand  and  distorted  his  leg.  I say,  the  needy  and  the 
workers  will  ask  why  we  should  be  well-dressed,  well- 
housed,  well-fed,  hear  good  music,  buy  good  pictures,  ride 

good  horses ” her  thoughts  moved  faster  than  her 

words ; she  broke  off  her  sentence  without  finishing  it. 
il  Papa  ! why,  at  a meet,  should  Giles  have  his  pony  and 
little  Cribbage  run  on  his  feet  ? ” 

“ Upon  my  soul,”  answered  Lord  L&merton,  “ I can’t 
answer  in  any  other  way  than  this — because  I keep  a pony 
and  the  rector  does  not  for  his  little  boy.” 

“ But,  papa,  I think  the  time  must  come  when  you  will 
have  to  justify  your  riding  a good  hunter  and  wearing  a red 
coat;  and  1 for  wearing  a tailor-made  habit,  whilst  Miss 
Jones  has  but  a skirt.” 

“ Look  here,  Armie,”  said  her  father,  “ how  dense,  how 
like  snow  the  fog  is  lying  on  the  pasture  by  the  water.” 

“ Yes,  papa,  but ” 

“ There  is  no  fog  here,  on  the  higher  land.” 

“No,  papa.” 

“ There  is  frost  below  when  there  is  none  here.” 

“ Yes,  papa.” 

“ Why  so  ? ” 

“ Because  that  lies  low,  and  this  high.” 

“ But  why  should  that  lie  low,  and  this  high  ? ” 

“ Of  course,  because — it  is  the  configuration  of  the 
land.” 


io6 


ARMINELL. 


“ But  how  unreasonable,  how  unjust,  that  there  should 
be  such  configuration  of  the  land,  as  you  call  it.  There 
should  be  no  elevations  and  no  depressions  anywhere — a 
universal  flat  is  the  landscape  for  you.” 

Arminell  winced.  She  saw  the  drift  of  her  father’s 
remarks. 

“ My  dear,”  he  said,  “ there  must  be  inequalities  in  the 
social  level,  but  I am  not  sure  that  these  very  inequalities 
do  not  give  charm  and  richness  to  the  social  picture. 
Each  level  has  its  special  flora.  The  marigold  and  the 
milkmaid  and  the  forget-me-not  love  the  low  moist  bottom 
where  the  fog  and  frost  hang,  and  will  not  thrive  here. 
Those  ups  and  downs,  those  hills  and  valleys  which  so 
shock  your  sense  of  fitness,  are  the  secret  of  richness,  are 
the  secret  of  fertility.  In  equatorial  Africa,  Dr.  Schweinfurth 
found  a dead  level  and  perennial  swamp.  In  Mid-Asia, 
Hue  traversed  an ’Alpine  plateau  absolutely  sterile.  It  is  a 
very  unreasonable  thing  to  some  that  our  moors  should 
contain  so  many  acres  of  unprofitable  bog,  that  they  should 
be  sponges  receiving,  and  growing  nothing.  They  say  that 
we,  the  wealthy,  are  these  absorbing  sponges,  unprofitable 
bogs  of  capital.  But,  my  dear  child,  if  the  bogs  were  all 
drained,  all  the  water  would  run  off  as  fast  as  it  fell.  They 
retain  the  water  and  gradually  discharge  it  on  the  thirsty 
lowlands.  And  so  is  it  with  us.  We  spend  what  we 
receive  and  enrich  therewith  those  beneath.  But  come — I 
shall  go  in.  I am  feeling  chilled.” 

“ I will  take  another  turn  first,”  said  Arminell. 

“ Don’t  fret  yourself,  my  dear,”  said  her  father,  “ about 
these  matters.  Take  the  world  as  it  is.” 

“ Papa — that  advice  comes  too  late.  I cannot.” 


CHAPTER  XII. 


SINTRAM. 

Lord  Lamerton  returned  to  the  house ; he  threw  away  his 
cigar-end,  and  went  in  at  the  snuggery  door,  the  door  into 
the  room  whither  the  gentlemen  retired  for  pipes  and  spirits 
and  soda-water,  a room  ornamented  with  foxes’  heads  and 
brushes,  whips,  hunting-pictures,  and  odds  and  ends  of  all 
sorts.  He  shut  the  door  and  passed  through  it  into  that 
part  of  the  house  in  which  was  the  schoolroom,  and  Giles’ 
sleeping  apartment.  As  he  entered  the  passage,  Lord 
Lamerton  heard  piercing  shrieks,  as  from  a child  yelling  in 
terror  or  pain. 

In  a moment,  Lord  Lamerton  ran  up  the  stairs  towards 
the  bedroom  of  his  son.  The  nurse  was  there  already,  with 
a light,  and*was  sitting  on  the  bed,  endeavouring  to  pacify 
the  child.  Giles  sat  up  in  his  night-shirt,  in  the  bed  clothes, 
with  his  eyes  wide  open,  his  fair  head  disordered,  striking 
out  with  his  hands  in  recurring  paroxysms  of  terror. 

“ What  is  the  matter  with  him  ? ” asked  the  father. 

“ My  lord — he  has  been  dreaming.  He  has  had  one  or 
two  of  these  fits  before.  Perhaps  his  fever  and  cold  have 
had  to  do  with  it.”  Then  hastily  to  Giles  who  began  to 
kick  and  beat,  and  went  into  a fresh  fit  of  cries,  “ There, 
there,  my  dear,  your  papa  has  come  to  see  you.  Have  you 
nothing  to  say  to  him  ? ” 

But  the  little  boy  was  not  to  be  quieted.  He  was  either 
still  asleep,  or,  if  awake,  he  saw  something  that  bereft  him 
of  the  power  of  regarding  anything  else. 


io8 


ARMINELL. 


“ There  will  be  no  questioning  him,  my  lord,  till  he  is 
thoroughly  roused,”  said  the  nurse. 

“ Bring  me  a glass  of  water.” 

Whilst  the  woman  went  for  the  tumbler,  Lord  Lamerton 
seated  himself  on  the  bedside,  and  drew  the  little  boy  ups 
and  seated  him  on  his  lap. 

“ Giles,  my  darling,  what  is  the  matter  ? ” 

Then  the  little  fellow  clung  round  his  father’s  neck,  and 
the  tears  broke  from  his  eyes,* and  he  began  to  sob. 

“ What  is  the  matter,  my  pet,  tell  me  ? Have  you  had 
bad  dreams  ? Here,  drink  this  draught  of  cold  water.” 

“ No,  no,  take  it  away,”  said  the  child.  “ I want  papa 
to  stay.  Papa,  you  won’t  be  taken  off,  will  you  ? Papa, 
you  will  not  leave  me,  will  you  ? ” 

“ No,  my  dear.  What  have  you  been  thinking  about?  ” 

“ I have  not  been  thinking.  I saw  it.” 

“ Saw  what,  Giles  ? ” 

Lord  Lamerton  stroked  the  boy’s  hair ; it  was  wet  with 
perspiration,  and  now  his  cheeks  were  overflowed  with 
tears.  The  shrieks  had  ceased.  He  had  recovered  suffi- 
cient consciousness  to  control  himself ; “ Papa  Iewas  at  the 
window.” 

“ What,  in  your  night-shirt  ? After  you  had  been  put  to 
bed  ? That  was  wrong.  With  your  heavy  cold  you  should 
not  have  left  your  bed.” 

The  child  seemed  puzzled. 

“Papa,  I do  not  understand  how  it  was.  I would  not 
have  left  my  bed  for  the  world,  if  I thought  you  did  not 
wish  it ; and  I do  not  remember  getting  out — still,  I must 
have  got  out ; for  I was  at  the  window.” 

“ He  has  not  left  his  bed.  He  has  been  dreaming,  my 
lord,”  explained  the  nurse  in  an  undertone;  and  Lord 
Lamerton  nodded. 

“ Papa,  dear.” 

“ Yes,  my  pet.” 


ARMINELL* 


IO9 


“ Are  you  listening  to  me  ? ” 

“ I am  all  attention.” 

“Papa,  I was  at  the  window.  But  I am  very  sorry  that  I was 
there,  if  you  are  annoyed.  I will  not  do  it  again,  dear  papa. 
And  the  moon  was  shining  brightly  on  the  drive.  You 
know  how  white  the  gravel  is.  It  was  very  white  with  the 
moon  on  it.  I did  not  feel  at  all  cold,  papa ; feel  me,  I am 
quite  warm.” 

“Yes,  my  treasure,  go  on  wifh  your  story.” 

“ Then  I watched  something  black  come  all  the  way  up 
the  drive,  from  the  lodg^-gates,  through  the  park.  I could 
not  at  first  make  out  what  it  was,  but  I saw  that  it  was 
something  very,  very  black,  and  it  came  on  slowly  like  a 
great  beetle.  But  when  it  was  near,  then  I saw  it  was  a 
coach  drawn  by  four  black  horses,  and  there  was  a man  on 
the  box,  driving,  and  he  was  in  black.  There  was  no  silver 
nor  brass  mounting  to  the  harness  of  the  horses,  or  I should 
have  seen  it  sparkle  in  the  moonlight.  And,  dear  papa,  the 
coach  stole  on  without  making  any  noise.  I saw  the  horses 
trotting,  and  the  wheels  of  the  coach  turning,  but  there  was 
no  sound  at  all  on  the  gravel.  Was  that  not  strange  ? ” 
“Very  strange  indeed,  my  dear.” 

“ But  there  was  something  much  stranger.  I saw  that 
the  horses  had  no  heads,  and  also  that  the  coachman  had 
no  head.  His  hat  with  the  long  weeper  was  on  the  top  of 
the  carriage.  He  could  not  wear  it  because  he  was  without 
a head.  Was  not  that  queer  ? ” 

“Very  queer,”  answered  Lord  Lamerton,  and  signed  to 
the  nurse  to  leave  the  room.  His  face  looked  grave,  and 
he  held  the  little  boy  to  his  heart,  and  kissed  his  forehead 
with  lips  that  somewhat  quivered. 

“Then,  papa,  the  carriage  stopped  at  the  entrance,  and  I 
could  see  through  the  window  panes  to  the  gravel  with  the 
moon  on  it,  on  the  other  side,  and  there  was  no  one  at  all 
in  the  coach.  It  was  quite,  quite  empty.” 


I IO 


ARMINELL. 


“ Did  you  not  think  it  was  Dr.  Blewett  come  to  see  you, 
«ny  little  man  ? ” 

“No,  papa,  I did  not  think  anything  about  whose  coach 
it  was.  But  when  it  remained  at  the  door,  and  no  one  got 
out,  I saw  it  must  be  staying  for  some  one  to  enter  it.” 

“And  did  any  one  come  out  of  the  house?  ” 

Then  the  little  boy  began  to  sob  again,  and  cling  round 
his  father’s  neck,  and  kiss  him. 

“ Well,  my  dear  Giles  ? ” 

“ Oh,  papa  ! — you  will  not  go  away  ! — I saw  you  come 
out  of  the  door,  and  you  went  away  in  the  coach — ” 

“ I ! ” Lord  Lamerton  drew  a sigh  of  relief.  The  dream 
of  the  dear  little  fellow,  associated  with  his  illness,  had  pro- 
duced an  uneasy  effect  on  his  father’s  mind — he  feared  it 
might  portend  the  loss  of  the  boy,  but  if  the  carriage  waited 
only  for  himself — ! 

“That,  papa,  was  why  I cried,  and  was  frightened.  You 
will  not  go  ! you  must  not  go  1”  The  child  trembled,  clasping 
his  father,  and  rubbing  his  wet  cheek  against  his  father’s  face. 

Then  Lord  Lamerton  called  the  nurse  from  the  next  room. 
“ Master  Giles,”  he  said,  “ is  not  thoroughly  roused.  The 
current  of  his  thoughts  must  be  diverted.  Throw  that  thick 
shawl  over  him.  I will  carry  him  doun  into  the  drawing- 
room to  my  lady,  and  show  him  a picture-book.  Then  he 
will  forget  his  dream  and  go  to  sleep.  Come  for  him  in  a 
quarter  of  an  hour.” 

The  nurse  did  as  required.  Then  Lord  Lamerton  stood 
up,  carrying  his  son,  who  laid  his  head  on  his  father’s 
shoulders,  and  so  he  bore  him  through  the  passages  and 
down  the  grand  staircase  to  the  drawing-room.  The  little 
fair  face  rested  on  the  shoulder,  with  the  fair  hair  hanging 
down  over  the  father’s  back,  and  one  hand  was  clutched  in 
the  collar.  Lord  Lamerton  kissed  the  little  hand.  He  was 
not  afraid  of  making  the  child’s  cold  worse,  the  evening  was 


so  warm. 


ARMINELL. 


Ill 


Lady  Lamerton  was  sitting  on  a settee  with  a reading 
lamp  on  a table  at  her  side,  engaged  on  an  article  in  one  of 
the  contemporary  magazines,  on  Decay  of  Belief  in  the 
World. 

Lady  Lamerton  was  a good  woman,  who  on  Sunday 
would  on  no  account  read  a novel,  or  a book  of  travels,  or 
of  profane  history.  Her  Sabbatarianism  was  a habit  that 
had  survived  from  her  childish  education,  long  after  she  had 
come  to  doubt  its  obligation  or  advisability.  But,  though 
she  would  not  read  a book  of  travels,  memoirs  or  history, 
she  had  no  scruple  in  reading  religious  polemical  literature. 
On  one  Sunday  she  found  that  miracles  were  incredible  by 
intelligent  beings,  and  next  Sunday  she  had  her  faith  in  the 
miraculous  re-established  on  the  massive  basis  of  a maga- 
zine article. 

For  an  entire  fortnight  she  laboured  under  the  impression 
that  Christianity  had  not  a leg  to  stand  on,  and  then,  on 
the  strength  of  another  article,  was  sure  it  stood  on  as 
many  as  a centipede.  For  a while  she  supposed  that  dog- 
mas were  the  cast  cocoons  of  a living  religion,  and  then, 
newly  instructed,  harboured  the  belief  that  it  was  as  impos- 
sible to  preserve  the  spirit  of  religion  without  them  as  it  is 
to  keep  essences  without  bottles.  At  one  time  she  sup- 
posed the  articles  of  the  creed  to  be  the  shackles  of  faith, 
and  then  that  they  were  the  characters  by  which  faith  was 
decipherable. 

The  sun  was  at  one  time  supposed  to  be  a solid  incan- 
descent ball,  but  astronomers  probed  it  with  their  probo- 
scises, and  found  that  the  body  was  enveloped  in  sundry 
wraps,  which  they  termed  photosphere  and  chromosphere, 
and  which  acted  as  jacket  and  overcoat  to  the  body,  which 
was  declared  to  be  black  as  that  of  a Hottentot.  Some 
fresh  proboscis-poking  revealed  the  fact  that  the  blackness 
supposed  to  be  the  sun-core  was  in  fact  an  intervening 
vapour  or  rain  of  ash,  and  when  this  was  perforated,  the 


112 


ARMINELL. 


very  body  of  the  sun  was  seen,  red  as  that  of  an  Indian, 
sullenly  glowing,  lifeless,  almost  lightless,  a cinder.  More- 
over, the  spectroscope  was  brought  to  analyse  the  constitu- 
ents of  the  photosphere  and  to  determine  the  metals  in  a 
state  of  incandescence  composing  it. 

Lady  Lamerton,  looking  through  the  telescopes  of  maga- 
zine articles  and  reviews,  was. continually  seeing  deeper  into 
the  great  luminous,  heat-giving  orb  of  Christianity ; was 
shown  behind  its  photosphere,  taught  to  despise  its  chromo- 
sphere, and  saw  exhibited  behind  them  blackness,  exhausted 
force,  the  ash  of  extinct  superstitions.  The  critical  spectro- 
scope was,  moreover,  brought  to  bear  on  Christianity,  and 
to  analyse  its  luminous  atmosphere,  and  resolve  it  into  alien 
matter,  none  distinctively  solar,  all  vulgar,  terrestrial,  and 
fusible. 

The  astronomer  assures  us  that  the  fuel  of  the  sun  must 
fail,  and  then  the  world  will  congeal  and  life  disappear  out 
of  it,  and  the  critic  announces  the  speedy  expiring  of  Chris- 
tianity. But,  as — indifferent  to  the  fact  that  the  sun  like  a 
worn-out  and  made-up  old  beau  is  tottering  to  extinction — 
Lady  Lamerton  ordered  summer  bonnets,  and  laid  out  new 
azalea  beds,  just  so  was  it  with  her  religion.  She  continued 
to  teach  in  Sunday-school,  went  to  church  regularly,  read 
the  Bible  to  sick  people,  did  her  duty  in  society,  ordered 
her  household,  made  home  very  dear  to  his  lordship — in  a 
word,  lived  in  the  light  and  heat  of  that  same  Christianity 
which  she  was  assured,  and  by  fits  and  starts  believed,  was  an 
exploded  superstition.  As  Lord  Lamerton  brought  little 
Giles  in  his  arms  into  the  drawing-room,  he  whispered  in 
his  ear,  “Not  a word  about  the  coach  to  mamma,”  and 
Giles  nodded. 

Lady  Lamerton  put  her  book  aside  and  looked  up. 

“ Oh,  Lamerton  ! What  are  you  doing  ? The  boy  is 
unwell,  and  ought  to  be  in  bed.” 

“ He  has  been  dreaming,  my  dear ; has  had  the  night- 


ARMINELL. 


113 

mare,  and  I have  brought  him  down  for  change,  to  drive  the 
frightening  thoughts  away.  He  will  not  take  cold,  he  is  in 
flannel,  and  the  shawl  is  round  him.  Besides,  the  evening 
is  warm.” 

“ He  must  not  be  here  many  minutes.  He  ought  to  be 
asleep,”  said  his  mother. 

“My  dear,  I have  promised  him  a look  at  a picture-book. 
It  will  make  him  forget  his  fancies.  What  have  you  over 
there?” 

“No  Sunday  stories  or  pictures,  I fear.” 

“ Yonder  is  a book  in  red — illustrated.  What  is  it  ? ” 

“ 4 Sintram  ’ — it  is  not  a Sunday  book.” 

“ I have  not  read  it  for  an  age,  but  if  I remember  right, 
the  D — comes  into  it.” 

“ If  that  be  the  case  it  is  perhaps  allowable.” 

“ What  is  the  meaning  of  that  picture  ? ” asked  the  little 
boy,  pointing  to  the  first  in  the  text.  It  was  by  Selous.  It 
represented  a great  hall  with  a stone  table,  in  the  centre, 
about  which  knights  were  seated,  carousing.  In  the  fore- 
ground was  a boy  kneeling,  beating  his  head,  apparently 
frantic.  An  old  priest  stood  by,  on  one  side,  and  a baron 
was  starting  from  the  table,  and  upsetting  his  goblet  of 
wine. 

“ I cannot  tell,  I forget  the  story,  it  must  be  forty  years 
since  I read  it.  I have  not  my  glasses.  Pass  the  book  to 
your  mother,  she  will  read.” 

Lady  Lamerton  drew  the  volume  to  her,  and  read  as 
follows  : — “ A boy,  pale  as  death,  with  disordered  hair  and 
closed  eyes,  rushed  into  the  hall,  uttering  a wild  scream  of 
terror,  and  clinging  to  the  baron  with  both  hands,  shrieked 
piercingly,  ‘ Knight  and  father  ! Father  and  knight ! Death 
and  another  are  closely  pursuing  me  ! ’ An  awful  stillness 
lay  like  ice  on  the  whole  assembly,  save  that  the  boy 
screamed  ever  the  fearful  words.” 

“ It  is  not  a pretty  story,”  said  Lord  Lamerton  uneasily. 

H 


ii4 


ARMINELL. 


44  Papa,”  whispered  the  boy,  “ I did  not  think  that  any- 
thing was  following  me.  I thought”— his  father’s  hand 
pressed  his  shoulders — “ no,  papa,  I will  not  repeat  it  to 
mamma.” 

“ What  is  it,  Giles  ? ” asked  his  mother,  looking  up  from 
the  book. 

44  Nothing  but  this,  my  dear,”  answered  Lord  Lamerton, 
44  that  I told  Giles  not  to  talk  about  his  dreams.  He  must 
forget  them  as  quickly  as  possible.” 

‘‘What  is  that  priest  doing?”  asked  the  child,  pointing 
to  the  picture. 

Lady  Lamerton  read  further.  44  ‘ Dear  Lord  Biorn,’  said 
the  chaplain,  4 our  eyes  and  thoughts  have  all  been  directed 
to  you  and  your  son  in  a wonderful  manner ; but  so  it  has 
been  ordered  by  the  providence  of  God.’” 

44  I think,  Giles,  we  will  have  no  more  of  4 Sintram  ’ to- 
night. Let  us  look  together  at  the  album  of  photographs. 
I will  show  you  the  new  likeness  of  Aunt  Hermione.” 

“ Where  is  young  Mr.  Saltren  ?”  asked  Lady  Lamerton. 

“ I fancy  he  has  gone  to  see  his  mother.  If  I remember 
aright,  he  said,  after  dinner,  that  he  would  stroll  down  to 
Chillacot.” 

44  There  comes  nurse,”  said  Lady  Lamerton.  44  Now, 
Giles,  dear,  you  must  go  to  sleep,  and  sleep  like  a top.” 

44  I will  try,  dear  mamma.”  But  he  clung  to  and  kissed 
most  lovingly,  and  still  with  a*little  distress  in  his  flushed 
face,  his  father.  He  had  not  quite  shaken  off  the  impres- 
sion left  by  his  dream.  When  the  boy  was  going  out  at 
the  door,  keeping  his  head  over  his  nurse’s  shoulder, 
wrapped  in  the  shawl,  Lord  Lamerton  watched  him  lov- 
ingly. Then  ensued  a silence  of  a minute  or  two.  It  was 
broken  by  Lady  Lamerton  who  said — 

44  We  really  cannot  go  on  any  longer  in  the  crypt.” 

44  The  crypt  ? ” 

44  You  must  build  us  a new  school-room.  The  basement 


ARMINELL, 


”5 

of  the  keeper’s  cottage  is  unendurable.  It  did  as  a make- 
shift through  the  winter,  but  in  summer  the  closeness  is 
insupportable.  Besides,  the  noises  overhead  preclude 
teaching  and  prevent  learning.” 

“ I will  do  what  I can,”  said  Lord  Lamerton ; “ but  I 
want  to  avoid  building  this  year,  as  I am  not  flush  of  money. 
Such  a room  will  cost  at  least  four  hundred  pounds.  It 
must  have  some  architectural  character,  as  it  will  be  near 
the  church,  and  must  not  be  an  eyesore.  I wish  it  were 
possible  to  set  the  miners  to  build,  so  as  to  relieve  them  ; 
but  they  are  incapable  of  doing  anything  outside  their 
trade.” 

“ What  will  they  do  ? ” 

“ I cannot  say.  They  have  not  been  like  the  young 

larks  in  the  fable.  These  were  alarmed  when  they  over- 

heard the  farmer  and  his  sons  discuss  the  cutting  of  the 
corn.  But  the  men  have  been  forewarned  and  have  taken 
no  notice  of  the  warnings.  Now  they  are  bewildered  and 
alarmed  because  they  are  turned  off.” 

“ Something  must  be  done  for  them.” 

“ I have  been  considering  the  cutting  of  a new  road  to 
the  proposed  station  ; but  the  position  of  the  station  can- 
not be  determined  till  Saltren  has  consented  to  sell  Chiila- 
cot,  and  he  is  obstinate  and  stupid  about  it.” 

“ Then  you  cannot  cut  it  till  you  know  where  the  st  ition 
will  be  ? ” 

“ Exactly ; and  Captain  Saltren  is  obstructive.  I am  not 
at  all  sure  that  his  right  to  the  land  could  be  maintained. 
1 strongly  suspect  that  I might  reclaim  it ; but  I do  not 
wish  any  unpleasantness.” 

“ Of  course  not.  Is  the  road  necessary  ? ” 

“ Not  exactly  necessary  ; but  I suppose  work  for  the 
winter  must  be  found  for  the  men.  As  we  have  not  gone 
to  town  this  season,  and  if  as  I propose,  we  abandon  our 
projected  tour  to  the  Italian  lakes  in  the  autumn,  I daresay 


1 16 


ARMINELL. 


we  can  manage  both  the  road  and  the  school-room;  but  I 
need  not  tell  you,  Julia,  that  I have  had  heavy  losses.  My 
Irish  property  brings  me  in  not  a groat.  I have  lost  heavily 
through  the  failure  of  the  Occidental  Bank,  and  I have 
reduced  my  rents,  I am  sorry  for  the  men.  Cornish  min- 
ing is  bad,  or  the  fellows  might  have  gone  to  CornwalL 
Perhaps  if  I find  them  work  on  the  new  road,  mines  may 
look  up  next  year.” 

“Arminell  has  been  speaking  to  me  about  Samuel  Ceely. 
She  wants  him  taken  on,”  said  her  ladyship.  “She  will 
pay  for  him  out  of  her  own  pocket.” 

Lord  Lamerton’s  mouth  twitched.  “ Arminell  has  asked 
me  why  I should  have  been  allowed  two  Lady  Lamertons, 
and  he  not  one  Mrs.  Ceely.” 

“ Arminell  is  an  odd  girl,”  said  her  ladyship.  “ But  I 
am  thankful  to  find  her  take  some  interest  in  the  poor.  It 
is  a new  phase  in  her  life.” 

“ It  seems  to  me,”  said  Lord  Lamerton,  “ that  you  and 
Armie  are  alike  in  one  particular,  and  unlike  in  another. 
You  both  puzzle  your  brains  with  questions  beyond  your 
calibre,  you  with  theological,  she  with  social  questions ; 
but  you  are  unlike  in  this,  that  you  take  your  perplexities 
easily,  Arminell  goes  into  a fever  over  hers.” 

“ It  is  a bitter  sorrow  to  me  that  I cannot  influence  her,” 
said  Lady  Lamerton  humbly.  “ But  I believe  that  no  one 
devoid  of  definite  opinions  could  acquire  power  over  her. 
I see  that  so  much  can  be  said,  and  said  with  justice  on  all 
sides  of  every  question,  that  all  my  opinions  remain,  and 
ever  will  remain,  in  abeyance.” 

“ I sincerely  trust  that  the  minx  will  not  fall  under  the 
influence  of  those  who  are  opinionated.” 

“ Arminell  is  young,  vehement,  and,  as  is  usual  with  the 
young,  indisposed  to  make  allowance  for  those  who  oppose 
what  commends  itself  to  her  mind,  or  for  those  who  do  not 
leap  at  conclusions  with  the  same  activity  as  herself.” 


ARMINELL. 


117 

“ And  she  is  pert ! ” said  Lord  Lamerton.  “ Upon  my 
soul,  Julia,  it  is  going  a little  too  far  to  take  me  to  task  for 
having  been  twice  married.  And  again,  when  I said  some- 
thing about  my  being  content  with  the  providential  ordering 
of  the  world,  she  caught  me  up  and  told  me  that  anyone 
with  a coronet  and  fifty  thousand  a year  would  say  the  same. 
I have  not  that  sum  this  year  anyhow.  Girls  nowadays  are 
born  without  the  bump  of  reverence,  and  with  that  of  self- 
assurance  unduly  developed.” 

Neither  spoke  for  a few  minutes. 

Presently  Lord  Lamerton,  who  was  looking  depressed, 
and  was  listening,  said  : 

“ Hark  ! Is  that  Giles  crying  again  ? ” 

“ I heard  nothing.” 

“Possibly  it  was  but  my  fancy.  Poor  little  fellow. 
Something  has  upset  him.  It  was  unfortunate,  Julia,  our 
lighting  on  ‘ Sintram.’  ” 

He  stood  up. 

“ I am  not  easy  about  the  dear  little  creature.  Did  you 
see,  Julia,  how  he  kissed  me  and  clung  to  me  ? ” 
u He  is  very  fond  of  you,  Lamerton.” 

“ And  I of  him.  I think  I shall  be  more  easy  if  I go  up 
and  see  our  Sintram,  and  learn  whether  he  is  asleep,  or 
whether  the  bad  dreams  are  threatening  him.  Poor  little 
Sintram  ! ” 

“You  will  come  back,  Lamerton  ? ” 

“Yes,  dear,  when  I have  seen  and  kissed  my  lii tie 
Sintram.” 


CHAPTER  XIII. 


THE  PRIVILEGED  CLASS. 

“ Is  it  not  a sad  reflection,”  said  Lady  Lamerton  on  the  re- 
turn of  his  lordship,  “ that  the  men  who  influence  others 
are  those  of  one  idea,  in  a word,  the  narrow  ? Because 
they  are  borne  in  mental  vision,  ignorant  and  prejudiced, 
they  throw  the  whole  force  of  their  wills  in  one  direction, 
they  become  battering  rams,  and  the  harder  their  heads  the 
heavier  the  blows  they  deal.  If  we  have  knowledge, 
breadth  of  vision,  charity,  we  cease  to  be  certain,  are  no 
longer  bigots,  and  our  power  of  impressing  others  fails  in 
proportion  to  our  liberality.  I feel  my  own  incompetence 
with  Arminell,  but  not  with  Arminell  alone.  I am  conscious 
of  it  when  taking  my  Sunday  class.  I dare  insist  on  no- 
thing, because  I am  convinced  of  nothing.  I am  so  much 
afraid  of  laying  stress  on  any  religious  topic,  which  has  been, 
is,  or  may  be  controverted,  that  I restrain  myself  to  the  ex- 
planation of  those  facts  which  I know  to  be  indisputable. 
I teach  the  children  that  when  Ahasuerus  sent  young  men 
with  letters  riding  on  dromedaries,  these  animals  had  two 
humps  ; whereas  when  Rebekah  lighted  down  off  her  camel 
to  meet  Isaac,  her  creature  had  but  one  hump.  And  I 
console  the  dying  with  the  last  bulletins  of  the  Palestine 
Exploration  Fund  determining  the  site  of  Ezion  Geber. 
You  know,  my  dear  Lamerton,  that  there  are  in  the  at- 
mosphere nitrogen  which  is  the  negative  gas,  oxygen  which 
is  positive,  and  carbonic  acid  which  is  deleterious  to  life.  I 


ARMINELL. 


II9 

suppose  it  is  the  same  with  the  spiritual  atmosphere 
breathed  by  the  soul,  only  the  oxygen  is  so  hard — nay,  to 
me  so  impossible  to  extract,  and  I am  so  scrupulous  not  to 
communicate  any  carbonic  acid  to  my  scholars,  that  I fill  the 
lungs  of  their  souls  with  nitrogen  only — a long  category  of 
negatives.” 

“ What  you  teach  matters  little.  The  great  fact  of  your 
kindness  and  sympathy  and  sense  of  duty  remains  undis- 
turbed, unassailable,”  said  Lord  Lamerton. 

“ My  dear,”  said  her  ladyship,  “ I wish  I could  be  of 
more  use  than  I am ; but  I am  like  Mrs.  Quickly  in  the 
‘ Merry  Wives  of  Windsor/  who  held  commissions  simul- 
taneously for  Doctor  Caius,  Slender  and  Fenton,  and 
wished  each  and  all  success  in  his  suit  for  sweet  Anne  Page. 
I am  not  a power,  or  anything  appreciable,  because  my 
judgment  hangs  ever  in  suspense  and  flickers  like  a needle 
in  a magnetic  storm.  When  I hear  our  dear  good  rector 
lay  down  the  law  with  thump  of  cushion  in  the  pulpit,  I 
know  he  is  thoroughly  sincere  and  that  sincerity  is  the  out- 
come of  conviction.  All  this  emphasis  would  go  were  he 
to  read  such-or-such  an  article  in  the  Westminster  Review , 
because  his  conviction  would  be  sapped.  But,  without  his 
conviction  would  he  be  of  much  use  ? Would  he  carry 
weight  with  his  rustic  audience  ? They  value  his  discourses 
as  the  Israelite  valued  the  strong  blast  that  brought  quails. 
If  his  mighty  lungs  blew  nothing  but  vagueness,  would  they 
care  to  listen,  or  k they  listened  would  they  pick  up  any- 
thing where  nothing  was  dropped  ? I am  sure  that  the 
great  leaders  of  men  were  men  of  one  idea.  Look  at  the 
apostles,  illiterate  fishermen,  but  convinced,  and  they  upset 
heathendom.  Look  at  Mahomet,  an  epileptic  madman,  be- 
lieving absolutely  in  only  one  thing — himself,  and  he 
founded  Islam.  Calvin,  Luther,  St.  Bernard,  Hildebrand, 
all  were  men  of  one  idea,  allowing  of  no  I/s  and  Buts  to 
qualify.  That  was  the  secret  of  their  strength.  It  is  the 


I 20 


- ARMINELL. 


convex  glass  that  kindles  a fire,  not  that  which  is 

even.’’ 

“ The  narrow  can  only  influence  the  ignorant.” 

" The  narrow  will  always  influence  the  bulk  of  men,  for 
the  bulk  of  mankind  is  ignorant,  not  perhaps  of  the  three 
R’s,  but  of  the  compensating  forces  which  keep  the  social 
and  political  systems  from  flying  to  pieces.” 

“Thank  heaven,  Julia,  the  country  is  not  in  the  hands  of 
fanatics  to  whirl  her  to  destruction.” 

“ How  long  will  it  remain  so  ? There  are  plenty  of  hot- 
brained  Phaethons  who  think  themselves  capable  of  driving 
the  horses  of  the  sun,  and  who  have  not  yet  learned  to 
control  themselves.  To  my  mind,  Lamerton,  our  class  is 
the  fly-wheel  that  saves  the  watch  from  running  down  at  a 
gallop,  and  marking  no  progress  at  all.  In  the  chronometer 
the  balance-wheel  is  made  up  of  two  metals  with  different 
powers  of  contraction  and  expansion,  one  holds  the  other 
in  check,  and  produces  equilibrium.  The  wheel  oscillates 
this  way,  that  way,  and  acts  as  a controlling  power  on  the 
mainspring  and  modifies  the  action  of  the  wheels.  Our 
class  is  so  constituted  with  its  double  character,  is  so 
brought  into  relation  with  all  parties  in  politics,  is  so  as- 
sociated with  every  kind  of  interest  in  the  country,  that  it  is 
swung  this  way,  that  way,  is  kept  in  perpetual  vibration,  and 
acts  as  an  effective  regulator  on  the  violent  forces  in  the 
political  and  social  world — forces  confined,  and  strong  be- 
cause confined,  forces  which  keep  the  machine  going,  but 
which  uncontrolled  would  wreck  it.” 

“I  dare  say  you  are  right,  Julia,  I have  no  doubt  the 
social  classes  are  all  as,  and  where  they  ought  to  be,  super- 
posed as  geologic  strata,  but  wonderfully  contorted,  it  must 
be  allowed,  in  places.  To  change  the  subject  — what  have 
you  said  to  Arminell  about  that  fellow  for  whom  she 
pleaded  ? ” 

“ Samuel  Ceely  ? ” 


ARMINELL. 


121 


“ Yes,  that  is  his  name.” 

“He  is  a poor  creature,”  said  Lady  Lamerton,  “a  cripple.” 

“ If  I remember  right  he  was  a scamp  at  one  time  and 
got  into  one  or  two  scrapes,  but  what  they  were,  ’pon  my 
soul,  I do  not  remember.” 

“ He  is  harmless  enough  now,”  said  Lady  Lamerton. 
“ I have  him  on  my  list  of  those  for  whom  I pay  into  the 
shoe-club,  and  the  clothing  club,  the  blanket  and  the  coal 
clubs.  The  rector’s  wife  said  it  was  a pity  he  should  miss 
the  advantages,  which  he  must  do,  as  he  is  too  poor  to  pay, 
and  he  needs  them  more  than  many  who  receive  them.  So 
I have  him  on  my  list  of  those  for  whom  I pay.  I have 
told  Arminell  that  he  can  work  in  the  glen.  That  requires 
to  be  done  up,  it  has  been  neglected  for  so  many  years. 
The  paths  and  the  summer-house,  the  benches,  the  water- 
fall, are  all  out  of  order.  Giles  may  like  to  play  there. 
Arminell  will  pay  the  man  out  of  her  allowance,  it  is  her  own 
wish.  And  now,  Lamerton,  I also  will  change  the  subject, 
and  that  to  one  which  I am  not  sure  I ought  to  mention 
on  a Sunday.  I am  glad  for  one  thing,  that  we  do  not  go 
to  town  for  the  season,  as  it  will  enable  us  to  show  some 
civility  to  the  country  people,  the  squires  and  the  parsons. 
Really,  when  we  have  the  house  full  of  our  friends,  we  can- 
not do  it,  the  groups  do  not  amalgamate,  they  have  so  few 
subjects  in  common.  I have  thought  of  a garden-party  for 
Wednesday  week.  You  will  mind  and  make  no  engage- 
ments for  that  day.” 

“ I will  book  it — to  be  at  home  on  Wednesday  week.” 
Lord  Lamerton  seated  himself,  and  the  light  of  his  wife’s 
reading  lamp  fell  on  his  face. 

“Are  you  not  feeling  well?”  she  asked.  “You  look 
pale,  dear.” 

“ It  is  nothing,”  he  replied.  “ I may  have  caught  a slight 
chill  in  the  avenue,  as  no  doubt  the  dew  is  falling,  and  there 
are  no  clouds  in  the  sky.  The  night  is  very  still  and  lovely, 


122 


ARMINELL. 


Julia.  No — I think  not — no,  I cannot  have  been  chilled 
there.  I do  not  know  what  it  is.  Well— I will  not  say  that 
either.  To  tell  you  the  whole  truth,  I am  worried.” 

“ Worried  ? About  what  ? ” 

“ 1 am  uneasy,  for  one  thing,  about  Arminell.  She  has 
got  queer  iancies  in  her  head.  Giles  also  is  not  well ; and 
there  is  something  further — in  itself  nothing,  but  though  a 
trifle  it  is  distressing  me  greatly.” 

“ What  is  it?” 

“The  leaders  of  my  choice  pines,  which  I had  planted 
about  the  grounds,  have  been  maliciously  cut  off.  The 
thing  has  been  done  out  of  spite,  and  to  hurt  me,  and  yet 
the  real  sufferers  are  yet  unborn.  A hundred  years  hence 
these  trees  would  have  been  admired  for  their  stateliness — 
and  now  they  are  mutilated.  I shall  be  dead  and  forgotten 
long  before  any  tree  I have  put  in  comes  to  size.  I am 
pained — this  has  been  aimed  at  me,  to  wound  me.  I fear 
this  has  been  done  because  I have  refused  to  allow  my 
house  to  be  undermined.” 

“ Who  can  have  done  it  ? ” 

“ I do  not  know.  If  I did  know,  I would  not  prosecute. 
That  is  one  of  the  privileges  of  our  privileged  class — to 
bear  injuries  and  impertinences  without  resentment.  I am 
hurt — I am  hurt  greatly.  The  matter  may  be  a trifle  ” — his 
lordship  stood  up — “ but — after  all  I have  done  for  the 
Orleigh  people — it  does  seem  unkind.” 

Lady  Lamerton  put  out  her  hand,  and  took  that  of  her 
husband.  “ Never  mind,”  she  said  ; “ he  who  did  it  will 
come  to  regret  it.” 

“ The  injury  does  not  touch  the  Lamertons  alone,”  said 
his  lordship  ; “ we  throw  open  the  park  and  gardens  every 
Saturday  to  the  public,  and  we  allow  Bands  of  Hope,  and 
Girls’  Friendly  Societies,  and  Choirs,  and  all  sorts  of  agglo- 
merations of  men  to  come  here  and  picnic  in  our  grounds 
and  strew  them  with  sandwich  papers  and  empty  ginger- 


ARMINELLt 


123 


beer  bottles,  and  cut  their  initials  on  the  park  gates  and 
trees.  A century  hence  the  trees  that  have  been  mutilated 
would  have  grown  into  magnificence,  and  overshadowed 
heaven  knows  what — poli  ical,  social  or  religious  holiday- 
taking companies  and  awkward  squads.” 

44  Put  in  some  more  pines,  next  autumn.” 

“ What  with  rabbits  and  the  public,  planting  is  discourag- 
ing work.  It  costs  a lot  of  money,  and  you  get  no  satisfac- 
tion from  it.  My  dear  Julia,  it  is  one  of  the  privileges — no 
— drawbacks  of  our  class,  that  we  expose  a wide  surface  to 
the  envious  and  the  evil-disposed.  They  can  injure  us  in  a 
thousand  ways,  whereas  our  powers  of  self-protection  are 
unduly  limited.  If  we  try  to  save  ourselves,  we  do  our- 
selves injury,  as  pigs  when  swimming  cut  their  own  throats 
with  their  fore-claws.” 

4 4 Never  mind  that.  Whom  shall  we  invite — or  rather, 
whom  must  we  omit  ? I must  send  out  cards  of  invitation 
to  our  garden  party  at  once.” 

44  O,  bother  the  garden  party,”  said  his  lordship  wearily. 
44  You  and  I hardly  ever  get  a quiet  evening  together,  so 
now  that  we  have  one,  let  us  forget  the  world  outside  and 
some  of  these  exacting  and  embarrassing  duties  we  owe  it. 
Really,  I envy  those  who,  belonging  to  a less  conspicuous 
sphere,  have  their  cosy  evenings  at  home,  their  privacy  and 
peaceful  joys.  We  are  forced  to  live  in  publicity,  we  have 
to  fill  our  house  with  guests,  lay  ourselves  out  to  entertain 
them,  keep  a French  cook  for  them — I am  sure  boiled 
mutton  and  caper  sauce  would  content  me, — stock  our 
cellars  for  them,  keep  hunters  and  preserve  the  game  for 
them.  Upon  my  word,  Julia,  we  are  not  suffered  to  live 
for  ourselves.  A selfish  existence  is  with  us  impossible. 
No  monks  or  nuns  ever  gave  up  half  so  much,  and  lived  so 
completely  for  others,  continually  sacrificing  their  own 
pleasures,  leisure,  thoughts,  time,  to  others, — as  we,  the 
British  aristocracy.” 


124 


ARMINELL. 


“ You  are  out  of  spirits  to-night,  Lamerton.”  His  wife 
retained  his  hand,  and  pressed  it. 

“ Then/’  continued  his  lordship,  following  his  own  train 
of  thought,  and  not  answering  his  wife’s  remark,  perhaps 
because  he  did  not  hear  it,  so  full  was  his  mind  of  the  topic 
then  uppermost  in  it,  “ then,  Julia,  consider — we  are 
mounted  specimens ; like  those  unfortunate  worms  in  sour 
paste,  and  monsters  in  a drop  of  dirty  water,  we  were  shown 
by  lime-light  and  a magnifying  glass  the  other  evening  at 
the  National  School,  projected  on  a white  sheet.  The 
whole  room  was  crowded,  and  the  bumpkins  in  the  place 
sat  gazing  as  the  lecturer  pointed  to  the  wriggling  creatures, 
named  each  in  succession,  and  described  it.  What  must 
have  been  the  discomfort  to  those  animals,  if  in  any  degree 
sensitive,  to  be  exposed,  stared  at,  glared  through,  com- 
mented on  ! and — consider — the  lecturer  may  have  misin- 
terpreted them,  because  misunderstanding  them,  and  they 
listened  to  it  all,  squirmed  a little  more  painfully,  but  were 
incapable  of  setting  him  to  rights.  The  German  princes 
are  entitled  durch-laucht , that  is,  ‘ Transparencies  ; ’ and 
quite  right.  We  also  are  transparencies,  we  worms  of  the 
aristocracy,  monsters  of  privilege,  held  up  before  the  public 
eye,  magnified,  projected  on  newspaper  sheets,  characterised 
sometimes  aright,  more  often  wrongly,  forced  to  have  every 
nerve  in  our  system,  every  pulsation  in  our  blood,  every  motion, 
in  our  brains,  every  moment  in  our  lives,  and  every  writhe 
of  our  bodies  and  spasm  of  our  hearts  commented  on  by 
the  vulgar,  and  brutally  misunderstood.  It  is  rather  hard 
on  us,  Julia.  There  are  other  worms  in  the  sour  paste  of 
life,  other  monsters  in  the  drop  of  dirty  water  we  call 
Society,  who  are  at  liberty  to  turn  about,  and  stretch  them- 
selves, bound  or  coil  as  they  list ; only  we — we  must  live 
and  wriggle  between  two  plates  of  glass,  illuminated  and 
made  translucent  by  the  most  powerful  known  light,  denied 
that  privilege  which  belongs  to  the  humble — opacity.” 


ARMINELL. 


125 

‘ Is  it  the  injured  pines  that  have  put  you  out  of  spirits 
to-night,  Lamer  ton  ? ” asked  my  lady,  stroking  the  hand 
she  held. 

“ Did  you  ever  read  about  Matthew  Hopkins,  the  witch- 
finder  ? ” asked  his  lordship,  with  a fluttering  smile  on  his 
lips.  “ He  brought  many  poor  harmless  creatures  to  a 
violent  end.  Every  suspected  witch  was  stripped  and 
closely  examined  for  a mole,  a wart,  for  any  blemish, — and 
such  blemishes  were  at  once  declared  to  be  the  devil’s  seals, 
stamping  the  poor  wretches  as  his  own.  Then  they  were 
tied  hand  and  foot  together,  and  thrown  into  the  water ; if 
they  sank  they  wTere  pronounced  innocent ; if  they  floated 
they  were  declared  guilty  and  wrere  withdrawn  from  the 
water  to  be  delivered  over  to  the  fire.  We,  Julia,  are 
treated  in  a way  not  unlike  that  pursued  by  Matthew 
Hopkins;  and  there  are  ten  thousand  amateur  witch- 
finders  searching  us,  tearing  off  our  clothes,  peering  after 
defects,  chucking  us  into  the  water  or  the  fire.  If  we  are 
found  to  have  moles,  how  we  are  probed  with  lancets,  and 
plucked  with  tweezers,  and  then  we  are  cast  to  the  flames 
of  public  indignation  and  democratic  wrath.  If,  however, 
we  are  found  to  have  no  moles  about  us,  if  we  give  no 
occasion  for  scandal,  then  away  we  are  pitched  into  the 
water,  and  down  down  we  sink  in  public  estimation,  and 
chill  disregard,  as  coroneted  nonentities.” 

Lady  Lamerton  continued  to  caress  her  husband’s  hand. 

Cl  Then  again,”  he  continued,  after  a short  silence,  “ the 
witches  were  tortured  into  confession  by  sleeplessness. 
They  were  seated  on  uncomfortable  stools,  and  watched 
night  and  day.  If  they  no/lded,  their  soles  were  tickled 
with  feathers,  cold  water  was  poured  down  their  backs,  or 
pepper  was  blown  up  their  noses.  As  for  us,  it  is  the  same, 
we  are  not  allowed  to  live  quietly,  we  are  forced  to  activity. 

I am  kept  running  about,  giving  prizes  at  school  com- 
memorations, taking  seat  on  committees,  laying  foundation- 


126 


ARM  I NELL. 


stones,  opening  institutions,  attending  quarter  sessions, 
throwing  wide  my  doors  to  every  one,  my  purse  to  a good 
many ; I am  denied  domesticity,  denied  rest.  I am  kept 
in  perpetual  motion.  I have  a title,  that  means  every  one 
else  has  a title  to  bully  me.  I am  tickled  into  energy  if 
I nod,  or  the  pepper  of  journalistic  sarcasm  is  blown  into 
my  eyes  and  nose  to  stir  me  to  activity.  Julia,  a rich 
merchant,  or  banker,  or  manufacturer,  a well-to-do  trades- 
man lives  more  comfortably  than  do  we.  In  the  first  place 
they  can  do  what  they  will  with  their  money — but  we  have 
to  meet  a thousand  claims  on  what  we  get,  and  are  grudged 
the  remnant  we  reserve  for  our  individual  enjoyment. 
Next,  they  are  not  exposed  to  ruthless  criticism,  to  daily, 
hourly  comment,  as  we  are.  They  are  free,  we  are  not ; 
they  can  think  first  of  themselves,  afterwards  of  others, 
whereas  we  have  *to  be  for  ever  considering  others,  and 
thrusting  ourselves  into  corners,  thankful  to  find  a corner 
in  which  we  may  possess  and  stretch  our  individual  selves. 
Upon  my  soul,  I wish  I had  been  born  in  another  order  of 
humanity,  without  title,  and  land,  and  a seat  in  the  Upper 
House,  and — and  without  manganese.” 

“ If  it  had  been  so — ” 

“ If  it  had  been  so,  then  I could  have  enjoyed  life, 
stuck  at  home,  and  seen  more  of  you,  and  Arminell,  and 
dear  little  Giles,  and  then — why  then,  I would  have  had  no 
enemies.” 

Lord  Lamerton  had  reseated  himself  when  he  began  to 
talk  of  Matthew  Hopkins,  the  witch-finder.  Now  he  stood 
up  again. 

“ Julia,”  he  said,  “ those  Douglas  pines  had  made  noble 
shoots — it  is  a pity.  I shall  go  to  bed,  and  dream,  if  I can, 
that  I am  lying  in  clover  and  not  over  a bunch  of  man- 
ganese.” 


CHAPTER  XIV. 


MR.  JAMES  WELSH. 

Mrs.  Saltren  had  informed  Arminell  that  she  had  a 
brother  who  was  a gentleman.  The  term  “ gentleman  is 
derived  from  the  Latin  gens , and  signifies  a member  of  a 
patrician  family.  But  this  is  not  the  signification  now  given 
it  in  the  vernacular.  On  the  tongue  of  the  people,  a 
gentleman  and  a lady  are  those  who  do  no  manual  labour. 
A man  informs  you  that  he  will  be  a gentleman  on  a bank- 
holiday,  because  he  will  lounge  about  with  his  hands  in  his 
pockets,  and  an  old  woman  who  has  weeded  turnips  at 
ninepence  a day,  becomes  a lady  when  rheumatism  invades 
her  limbs,  and  sends  her  to  the  union. 

Mr.  James  Welsh,  the  brother  of  Mrs.  Saltren,  was  a 
gentleman  in  this,  that  he  belonged  to  a gens,  a class  not 
ancient  or  aristocratic,  but  modern,  and  one  that  has  ob- 
tained considerable  influence,  wields  much  power  and  is 
likely  to  become  dominant — we  mean  that  of  the  professional 
journalist  and  politician.  He  was  a gentleman  also  in  this, 
that  he  did  no  hard  manual  labour,  but  few  men  worked 
harder  than  he,  but  then  he  dirtied  his  hands  with  ink  only. 

Along  the  coasts  of  Scotland  and  Sweden  are  terraces 
raised  high  above  the  sea-level,  which  are  pronounced  by 
geologists  to  be  ancient  beaches.  At  one  time  the  waves 
washed  where  now  sheep  graze,  and  deposited  sea-weed  and 
shells  where  now  grow  heather  and  harebells.  There  are 
these  raised  sea-beaches  in  man,  to  which  conscience  at  one 


128 


ARMINELL. 


time  reached,  where  it  formed  a barrier,  and  whence  it  has 
retreated.  But  we  are  wrong  in  speaking  of  the  retreat  of 
the  sea,  for  actually  the  level  of  the  ocean  is  permanent,  it 
is  the  land  which  rises,  and  as  it  rises  leaves  the  sea  below. 
And  so  perhaps  it  is  with  ns.  We  lift  ourselves  above  old 
convictions,  scruples,  principles,  and  the  sometimes  sleep- 
ing, sometimes  tossing  sea  of  conscience  no  longer  touches 
those  points  they  once  fretted.  Do  we  congratulate  ourselves 
on  this  elevation  ? Perhaps  so,  and  yet  few  of  us  can  con- 
template the  raised  beaches  left  in  our  hearts  by  the  retiring 
waves  of  conscience  without  a sigh,  and  a doubt. 

Mr.  James  Welsh  said  and  wrote  and  did  many  things  as 
a public  journalist  and  a professional  politician  which  as  a 
boy  or  young  man  he  would  have  looked  upon  as  dishonest, 
false,  and  mischievous.  Plis  conscience  no  longer  troubled 
him  in  his  business,  but  in  home  relations  he  was  blameless. 

Perhaps  one  reason  why  the  sea-level  alters  with  us,  is 
that  we  are  always  endeavouring  to  reclaim  land  from  it, 
thrusting  our  sea-walls  of  self-interest  further  out,  to  take  in 
more  field  from  being  overwashed.  We  make  our  line  of 
conscience  co-terminous  with  our  line  of  self-interest.  Out- 
side this  line  the  waves  may  toss  and  roar,  within  they 
may  not  cast  a flake  of  foam,  or  waft  a breath  of  ozone. 
How  much  thunder  and  buffet  we  permit  outside  our  sea- 
wall of  self-interest  against  any  rock  or  sand-bank  that 
stands  unenclosed  ! but  we  only  suffer  the  water  of  self- 
reproach  to  sweep  with  a shallow  swash  and  soothing 
murmur  the  outside  of  the  bank  we  have  cast  up. 

What  excellent  words  those  are  to  conjure  with  and 
wherewith  blind  our  own  eyes  as  well  as  those  of  others — 
Political  Party  and  the  Public  Weal  ! We  regard  ourselves 
as  devoted  to  the  respublica , when,  in  reality,  we  care  only 
for  our  private  interests ; and  our  zeal  for  the  public  good 
is  hot  or  cold  according  as  our  dividends  are  affected. 

If  we  can  show  that  the  welfare  of  our  party  can  be 


ARMINELL. 


I29 


advanced  by  making  out  our  neighbour  to  be  a thief  and 
assassin,  with  what  pious  energy  do  we  set  to  work  to  in- 
vent lies  to  defame  him.  How  we  suppress  and  disguise 
facts  which  make  against  our  pet  doctrines  ! To  what 
subterfuges  and  tricks  do  we  have  recourse  to  colour  those 
facts  which  cannot  be  suppressed  to  make  them  look  the 
opposite  to  what  we  know  them  to  be  ! 

It  is  really  deserving  of  note  how  every  dirty  and  dis- 
honourable act  is  wrapped  about  with  a moral  sanction,  as 
a comfit  with  a motto  in  a cracker. 

We  always  profess  to  be  actuated  by  noble  and  dis- 
interested motives,  and  yet  they  are  generally  mean  and 
personal.  Our  ancestors  regarded  the  planets  only  so  far 
as  they  by  their  conjunctions  and  interferences  with  each 
other’s  houses  affected  the  constitutions  and  careers  of 
these  ancestors  of  ours.  Jupiter  is  1250  times  larger  than 
the  earth,  and  has  seven  moons,  and  this  planet  with  its 
moons  revolves  and  illumines  the  sky  to  affect  the  spleen  of 
Master  Jack  Sparrow  and  disturb  the  courtship  of  Mistress 
Jenny  Wren.  Jupiter  is  distant  five  hundred  millions  of 
miles  from  Jack  and  Jenny — but  what. of  that?  According 
to  Euclid  a straight  line  can  be  drawn  between  any  two 
given  points,  accordingly  between  the  planet  at  one  end  and 
these  little  nobodies  at  the  other,  lines  exist.  Now  all 
people  actually  do  draw  invisible  lines  between  themselves 
and  every  other  object  in  heaven  and  earth,  and  contemplate 
these  objects  along  these  lines,  and  value  and  despise  them 
according  as  these  objects  affect  them  along  these  lines. 

The  author  was  travelling  in  a second-class  railway- 
carriage  on  that  memorable  Monday  morning  aftei  the 
Phoenix  Park  tragedy  that  thrilled  all  England  with  horror 
and  rage.  Facing  him,  sat  a gentleman  reading  his  paper, 
who  ever  and  anon  slapped  his  knee,  and  exclaimed, 
“Famous!  Splendid!  Nothing  better  could  have  happened!” 
Presently,  unable  to  understand  these  exclamations,  the 

l 


J3° 


ARM1NELL. 


author  asked,  “ Sir ! do  you  mean  to  say  that  you  approve 
of  the  crime?  ” 

“ Oh,  no  ! ” was  his  answer.  “ Certainly  not,  but,  consider 
how  it  will  make  the  papers  sell ! I have  shares  in  one  or 
two.” 

The  writer  was  talking  the  other  day  to  a timber  merchant 
on  the  condition  of  Ireland.  “ I trust,”  said  he,  “ that  the 
Plan  of  Campaign  will  not  be  suppressed  as  yet.  We  can 
buy  Irish  oak  at  fourpence  a foot  just  now.” 

The  writer  was  discussing  the  annexation  of  Alsace  with 
a native  farmer.  “ Well,”  said  he,  “ when  we  belonged  to 
France  I sold  for  a franc  what  I now  sell  for  a mark,  there- 
fore, God  save  Kaiser  Wilhelm.”  “But,”  was  objected, 
“ probably  you  now  have  to  pay  a mark  for  what  formerly 
cost  you  a franc.”  He  considered  for  a moment,  and  then 
said,  “That  is  true,  vive  la  France!”  Twopence  turned 
his  patriotism  this  way  to  Berlin,  or  that  way  to  Paris.  He 
was  a German  when  selling,  a Frenchman  when  buying,  all 
for  twopence. 

The  professional  politician  is  a man  who  lives  by  politics 
as  the  professional  chess-player  lives  by  chess.  He  acquires 
a professional  conscience.  His  profession  has  to  fill  his 
pockets  and  find  bread  for  his  children,  and  politics  must 
be  kept  going  to  do  so.  The  chess-player  sacrifices  pawns 
to  gain  his  end.  The  stoker  shovels  on  coals  into  the 
furnace  to  make  his  engine  gallop  ; and  the  electrician  pours 
vitriol  into  the  battery  to  produce  a current  in  his  wires. 
They  have  none  of  them  the  slightest  scruple  in  doing  these 
things — they  belong  to  the  business,  and  the  professional 
politician  has  no  scruple  in  playing  with  facts,  and  throwing 
them  away  as  pawns  in  his  game,  or  of  exciting  the  passions 
and  prejudices  of  men,  or  of  using  the  most  biting  and 
corroding  acid  in  his  endeavours  to  evoke  a current  of 
feeling.  When  an  organist  desires  to  produce  a noise,  he  pulls 
out  stop  diapason,  and  dances  on  the  pedals.  The  pro* 


ARMINELL. 


I31 

fessional  politician  deals  with  the  public  in  the  same  way ; 
that  is  his  instrument.  What  in  the  organ  are  the  pedals 
for  but  to  be  kicked,  and  the  keys  but  to  be  struck,  and  the 
stops  but  to  be  drawn  out,  and  what  are  the  social  classes 
but  the  manuals,  and  the  individuals  composing  them,  but 
the  keys,  and  the  grudges,  greed,  ambition,  envy,  and  pre- 
judices but  the  stops,  which  a clever  player,  understands  to 
manipulate  ? 

Mr.  Welsh  was  a worthy  man,  eminently  respectable,  a 
good  husband,  and  a kind  friend.  He  was  truthful,  honest, 
reliable  in  his  family  and  social  relations,  but  professionally 
unscrupulous.  The  sea-line  stood  in  its  old  place  on  one 
side  of  his  character,  but  on  another  a wide  trkct,  that  tract 
on  which  he  grew  his  harvest,  had  been  reclaimed  from  the 
waves  of  conscience.  It  is  so  with  a good  many  others 
besides  Mr.  Welsh,  and  in  a good  many  other  trades  and 
professions  than  journalism  and  politics.  We  are  con- 
scientious in  every  department  except  that  of  money  making, 
and  in  that  we  allow  of  tricks  and  meannesses,  which  we 
excuse  to  ourselves  as  forced  on  us  by  the  exigencies  of 
competition.  Recently  Mr.  Welsh  had  been  siightly  in- 
disposed, so  he  came  from  town  into  the  country,  on  a 
holiday,  to  spend  the  Sunday  with  his  sister,  and  then  run 
on  to  see  a congenial  friend  in  a town  in  the  same 
county. 

In  the  afternoon  he  took  a stroll  by  himself  in  the  woods, 
smoking  his  pipe,  and  always  with  an  eye  to  business,  look- 
ing about  him  for  material  for  an  article. 

“ Halloo  ! ” said  Mr.  Welsh,  halting  in  front  of  the  ruinous 
cottage  of  Patience  Kite.  “ What  have  we  here  ? Does 
any  one  inhabit  this  tumble-down  concern  ? ” 

He  went  to  the  door  and  looked  in. 

Patience  faced  him. 

“ What  do  you  want  ? Who  are  you  ? This  is  my  house, 
and  I will  not  be  turned  out  of  it.” 


132 


ARMINELL. 


She  took  him  for  a sanitary  officer,  or  a lawyer,  come  to 
enforce  her  expulsion. 

“This  is  a queer  hole  for  a lady  to  occupy  as  her 
boudoir,”  said  Mr.  Welsh,  taking  his  pipe  out  of  his  mouth. 
“ I wouldn’t  care  for  this  style  of  thing  myself  except  as  a 
drawing  copy.  Not  to  become  a hero  of  romance,  or  to  give 
my  experience  in  a magazine  article  would  I sleep  under 
that  chimney  oh  a stormy  night.,, 

“Nobody  has  invited  you,”  said  Patience,  blocking  her 
door. 

“And  pray,  madam,  whose  house  is  this?  Is  this  the 
sort  of  cottage  my  lord  provides  for  his  tenants?” 

“ The  house  is  mine.” 

“ Copyhold  or  freehold  ? ” 

“ I pay  ground  rent  for  it  of  two  shillings ; it  is  mine  for 
life,  and  then  it  falls  to  his  lordship.” 

“ I should  expect  it  would  fall  altogether  to  you  shortly. 
Why  don’t  you  do  it  up  ? ” 

“ How  can  I ? Iam  poor.” 

“ I suppose  that  you  are  bound  by  the  terms  of  the  lease 
to  maintain  the  house  in  repair  ? ” 

“ I dare  say.  The  agent,  Mr.  Macduff,  has  threatened 
me ; but  no  one  can  make  me  do  it  when  1 haven’t  a shill- 
ing. You  can’t  make  one  dance  who  is  born  without  legs.” 
“ Then,  properly,  this  house  belongs  to  his  lordship.  Why 
does  not  he  do  it  up  ? I can  make  something  out  of  this  ! 
A Day  in  the  Country,  something  to  fill  a column  and  a- 
half  in  a Monday  morning  paper.  Contrast  his  lordship’s 
princely  residence  with  the  ruins  in  which  he  pigs  his 
tenants.  Compare  Saltren’s  place,  Chillacot,  which  is  his 
own,  all  in  spic-and-span  order,  with  this,  and  then  a word 
about  the  incubus  of  the  great  holders  on  the  land,  and  the 
advantage  of  the  enfranchisement  of  the  soil.  It  will  do. 
And  so,  madam,  they  have  tried  to  evict  you  ? ” 

“Yes;  the  sanitary  officer  ordered  me  to  leave;  the 


ARMINELL. 


133 


Board  of  Guardians  went  to  the  magistrates,  and  issued 
a summons  to  me  to  quit,  and  my  lord  has  sent  Mr  Macduff 
to  me,  to  threaten  proceedings  against  me  if  I will  not  put 
the  house  in  repair  or  quit  it.  But  what  can  they  do  when 
I won’t  budge,  and  could  prosecute  ’em  if  they  laid  fingers 
on  me?  The  police  daren’t  touch  me.  They’ve  come  and 
looked  at  me  and  argued,  but  they  can’t  force  me  to  leave.” 
“ So  his  lordship  wants  to  evict  you,  eh  ? ” 

“ Mr.  Macduff  has  declared  he’ll  send  masons  and 
strip  the  roof,  and  pull  down  the  chimney,  and  rebuild  the 
walls,  but  they  can’t  do  it  without  driving  me  out  first,  and 
that  is  more  than  they  can  with  me  having  the  house  as  my 
own  for  life.” 

“ By  Jove  ! ” exclaimed  Welsh,  “ it’s  a case — a poor  widow, 
I suppose  you  are  a widow  ; it  doesn’t  matter  if  you  are  not ; 
it  sounds  best — a widow,  a victim  to  his  lordship’s  tyranny 
— tearing  down  the  roof  that  shelters  her  grey  head,  casting 
down  her  chimney,  desecrating  her  hearthstone,  the  sacred 
penates,  with  the  foot  of  violence — or  hoof,  which  shall  it 
be  ? By  George  ! I’ll  make  something  out  of  it,  harrowing 
to  the  feelings,  and  as  rousing  as  tartaric  acid  and  soda ! 
Who  cares  for  a contradiction  or  a correction  ? We  can 
always  break  the  lines  and  make  nonsense  of  it,  and  lay  the 
blame  on  the  printer,  if  called  to  task.  I’m  glad  I came 
here  for  a Sunday.  You  will  let  me  inside,  I suppose,  ma’am, 
to  cast  an  eye  round  ; particulars  are  so  useful  in  a descrip- 
tion, lend  such  a vraisemblance  to  an  account.” 

But  Mrs.  Kite’s  tumble-down  cottage  was  not  the  only 
material  Mr.  Welsh  collected  for  use  on  that  Sunday.  He 
heard  from  Saltren  about  the  stoppage  of  the  manganese. 

“ Something  can  be  made  out  of  that,”  said  Welsh. 
“We  are  in  want  of  a grievance.  Tell  me  the  parti- 
culars, I’ll  sift  out  for  myself  what  will  serve  my  purpose.” 
When  he  had  heard  all,  “ It  will  do,”  said  he,  “ there  has 
been  nothing  to  interest  the  public  or  stir  them  up  since 


134 


ARM  IN  ELL. 


the  last  divorce  suit  in  high  life.  High  life  ! — so  high  that 
some  folks  had  to  hold  their  noses.  We  want  a bit  of  a 
change  now.  After  that  bit  of  strong  venison,  some  cap- 
sicum to  restore  the  palate.  Saltren,  you  must  convene  a 
public  meeting,  make  a demonstration,  a torchlight  proces 
sion  of  the  out-of-work,  issue  a remonstrance.  I’ll  come 
and  help  you.  I know  how  to  work  those  kind  of  things. 
A little  grievance  and  some  dissatisfaction  well-stirred  to- 
gether is  like  chlorate  of  potash  and  sulphur  in  a mortar ; 
only  stir  away,  and  in  the  end  you  get  an  explosion.” 

“ It  is  of  no  use,”  said  the  captain,  in  a tone  of  dis- 
couragement. 

44  Of  no  use ! I tell  you  it  is  of  the  utmost  use ; we’ll 
make  a public  matter  of  it.  Get  a question  asked  in  the 
House  about  it.  There  are  > o many  journalists  in  there 
now  that  we  can  get  anything  asked  when  we  want  the 
question  as  a text  for  a leader.  Why,  we  will  fill  the  papers 
with  your  grievance,  only  we  must  have  some  meeting  to 
report,  and  I’ll  help  you  with  that.  Bless  you,  I’ve  half  a 
dozen  ways  of  poking  this  matter  into  notoriety ; and  we 
will  show  up  the  British  aristocracy  as  the  oppressors  of 
the  poor,  those  who  are  driving  business  out  of  the  country, 
who  are  the  true  cause  of  the  prevailing  depression. 
Thanks  to  that  recent  divorce  case  we’ve  made  them  out 
to  be  the  moral  cancer  in  the  body  of  old  England,  and 
now  we  shall  show  that  they  are  the  drag  on  commercial 
progress.  When  folks  are  grumbling  because  the  times  are 
bad,  it  makes  them  mighty  content  to  be  shown  a cause  for 
it  all,  on  which  they  may  vent  their  ill-humour.  Did  you 
ever  read  4 The  Curiosity  Shop,’  Saltren  ? Quilp  had  a 
figure-head  to  batter  whenever  things  went  wrong  with  him, 
and  the  public  are  much  like  Quilp  ; give  ’em  an  admiral 
or  a peer,  or  an  archbishop,  some  figure-head,  and  whack, 
bang,  hammer,  and  smash  they  go  at  it.” 

44  As  for  the  aristocracy,”  said  Mrs.  Saltren,  44 1 ought  to 


ARMINELL. 


!35 


know  them,  I combed  their  hair,  and  hooked  their  dresses, 
and  unpacked  their  portmanteaus ; and  them  as  do  that 
are  best  qualified  to  know  them,  I should  think.” 

“ I don’t  mind  telling  you,”  said  the  captain,  addressing 
his  brother-in-law,  “ that  their  doom  is  sealed  in  heaven. 
I’ve  had  it  revealed  to  me.” 

“You  have,  have  you  ? ” asked  Welsh  in  a tone  of  irony, 
which,  however,  Saltren  did  not  perceive. 

“Yes,  I have — you  shall  hear.  I would  not  tell  every 
one,  but  I tell  you.  * I was  in  the  spirit  this  very  morning, 
and  I heard  a voice  from  heaven  saying  unto  me,  Saltren, 
Saltren  ! Then  I looked,  and  behold  there  came  flying 
down  to  me,  a book  from  heaven,  written  within  and  with- 
out. I held  up  my  hands  to  receive  it ; but  it  fell  past  me 
into  the  water,  and  I stooped  and  looked  thereon,  and  saw 
written  ‘ The  Gilded  Clique,’  and  again  the  voice  cried,  ‘ It 
is  fallen,  it  is  fallen  ! ’ ” 

“ You  don’t  expect  me  to  gulp  that ’’Welsh  checked 

himself,  and  added,  shaking  his  head — “ I can’t,  I’m  afraid, 
make  copy  of  that.” 

“ It  is  true,”  said  Saltren  earnestly.  His  vehemence,  his 
kindled  eyes,  his  deepened  colour,  showed  his  sincerity. 
“ Would  1 dare  in  such  matters  to  utter  lies  ? I am  but  a 
poor  mean  instrument,  but  what  of  that  ? Prophets  have 
been  found  among  shepherds,  and  apostles  taken  from 
their  fishing  nets.  I was  engaged  in  heartfelt  prayer  when 
this  took  place.” 

“You  didn’t  happen  to  fall  asleep  whilst  occupied  in 
devotion,  of  course?  ” said  Welsh,  with  a contemptuous  jerk 
of  the  chin.  “ Such  a weakness  is  not  likely  to  befall  you.” 

“I  was  not  asleep,”  answered  Saltren  sternly.  “How 
could  I be  asleep,  when  my  eyes  were  open,  and  I saw  the 
book  ; and  my  ears,  and  they  heard  the  voice?  ” 

“You  didn’t  happen  to  get  hold  of  the  book,  and  see 
the  name  of  the  publisher  ? ” 


136 


ARMINELL. 


“ No — I was  unable.  It  was  unnecessary.  I read  the 
title  plainly.  I saw  what  was  on  the  cover  of  the  book.” 

“ I can  do  nothing  with  this,”  said  Welsh,  leaning  back 
in  his  chair,  stretching,  and  closing  his  hands  behind  the 
back  of  his  head.  “ This  belongs  to  another  department 
altogether.  You  had  better  relate  your  experiences  at  the 
next  revival-meeting  among  the  horse-marines,  there  is  no 
knowing  what  effect  it  may  have  upon  that  intelligent  and 
excitable  body  of  men.” 

“ It  is  true,”  urged  Saltren  again,  frowning. 

He  was  incapable  of  seeing  that  his  brother-in-law  was 
bantering  him.  The  man  was  absolutely  without  sense  of 
humour ; but  he  saw  that  Welsh  did  not  believe  in  his 
story,  and  this  irritated  and  offended  him.  That  his  tale 
as  he  told  it,  grew  in  its  proportions  and  became  more  and 
more  unreal,  was  also  what  he  did  not  know7.  His  mind 
worked  on  the  small  materials  it  had,  and  spun  out  of 
them  a fable  in  which  he  himself  implicitly  believed. 

“ 1 don’t  dispute  what  you  have  narrated,”  said  Welsh 
composedly.  “ I know  you  are  a total  abstainer,  so  it  is 
not  to  be  accounted  for  in  the  way  which  comes  naturally 
uppermost.  Still,  I’ve  heard  of  wonderful  elevation  of 
spirits  and  general  head-over-heeledness  after  an  over-dose 
of  non-alcoholic  effervescing  liquors.” 

“ I had  touched  nothing,”  said  Saltren,  with  his  temper 

chafed.  “ If  you  doubt  me ” 

“ But  I do  not  doubt  you,”  interrupted  Welsh.  “ I tell 
you  that  this  does  not  interest  me,  because  it  is  outside  my 
department,  like  Bulgaria,  and  the  Opera  Comique,  and 
Inoculations  for  Hydrophobia,  and  Primitive  Marriage.  I 
don’t  meddle  with  the  Eastern  Question,  or  review  histori- 
cal works,  or  sermons,  or  novels.  I leave  all  that  to  other 
fellows  ; you  must  pass  this  on  to  the  chap  who  does  re- 
ligion, not  that  I think  he  would  make  copy  out  of  it  for  a 
magazine  article,  except  under  the  head  of  Hallucinations.” 


CHAPTER  XV. 


REVELATIONS. 

M Now  look  straight  for’ard,”  said  Mr.  Welsh,  “ and  distin- 
guish. You  call  this  affair  of  yours  and  the  book — a revela- 
tion. There  are  revelations,  my  friend,  that  may  be  written 
with  a capital  R,  and  others  that  have  to  begin  with  a small 
cap.” 

Mr.  Welsh  was  not  particular  about  the  English  he  spoke, 
but  he  wrote  it  well,  at  least  passably. 

“ The  sort  of  revelation  that  suits  me,  one  with  a capital 
R,  is  that  at  which  a shorthand  reporter  assists.  That’s  the 
sort  of  revelation  we  get  in  the  courts — that  is,  as  the 
French  say,  controle . But  on  the  other  hand  comes  your 
hole-and-corner  revelation,  which  has  more  given  it  than  is 
its  due  when  written  with  a little  r.  No  reporter,  no 
public  present,  totally  uncontrolled ; that  sort  of  revelation 
is  no  use  to  me.  I don’t  mean  to  say  but  that  sort  of 
thing  may  go  down  at  revivals,  but  for  the  press  it  is  no 
good  at  all.” 

“ Am  I likely  to  have  imagined  it  ? What  should  have 
put  the  thought  of  ‘ The  Gilded  Clique  ’ into  my  head  ? ” 
asked  Saltren  angrily.  “ I tell  you  I believe  in  this  revela- 
tion as  I believe  that  I see  you  before  me.” 

“ Gilded  Clique  ! ” repeated  Welsh,  “I  can’t  say,  but 
Gaboriau’s  criminal  novel  may  have  fallen  under  your  eyes.” 

“ What  is  that  ? ” 

“ A French  novel  with  that  title.  It  has  been  translated.” 


ARMINELL. 


138 

“ Now  see  ! ” exclaimed  Captain  Saltren,  kindling,  spring- 
ing up,  and  waving  his  arms,  “ I never  have  set  eyes  on 
such  a book,  never  heard  of  it  before.  But  nothing  that 
you  could  have  said  would  have  confirmed  me  in  my  con- 
viction more  than  this.  It  shows  that  the  devil  is  active, 
and  that  to  draw  away  attention  from,  and  to  weaken  the 
force  of  my  revelation,  he  has  caused  a book  to  be  circulated 
under  the  same  name.  Tshould  not  be  surprised  if  you 
told  me  it  had  a blood-red  cover.” 

“ It  has  one.” 

“ There  ! ” cried  Saltren,  “ now  nothing  will  ever  shake 
my  faith.  When  the  devil  strives  to  defeat  the  purposes  of 
Heaven,  it  is  because  he  fears  those  purposes.  My  solemn 

and  sincere  conviction  is ” He  lowered  his  voice,  but 

though  low  it  shook  with  emotion.  <£  My  belief  is  that  the 
book  I saw  was  the  Everlasting  Gospel.  John  saw  an  angel 
flying  in  heaven  having  that  book  in  his  light  hand,  but  it 
was  not  then  communicated  to  man.  The  time  was  not 
ripe.  Now,  at  last,  towards  the  end  of  the  ages,  that  book 
has  been  cast  down,  and  its  purport  disclosed.” 

“ You  didn’t  happen  to  see  the  angel  ? ” asked  Welsh 
sneeringly. 

“ I — I am  not  sure,  I saw  something.  Indeed,  there  no 
doubt  was  an  angel  flying,  but  my  eyes  were  blinded  with 
the  extraordinary  light,  and  my  mind  has  not  yet  sufficiently 
recovered  for  me  to  recollect  all  the  particulars  of  the  vision. 
But  this  I can  tell  you,  for  I know  it.  Although  I did  not 
get  hold  of  the  book,  its  contents  are  written  in  fire  in  my 
brain.  That  book  of  the  Everlasting  Gospel  declares  that 
the  age  of  privilege  is  at  an  end,  the  distinctions  between 
rich  and  poor,  noble  and  common,  are  at  an  end.  This  has 
been  hidden  from  the  world,  because  the  world  was  not 
ready  to  receive  it.  Now  the  time  is  come,  and  I am  the 
humble  instrument  chosen  for  announcing  these  good  tidings 
to  men.  I care  not  if,  like  Samson,  I be  crushed  as  I take 


ARMINELL.  139 

hold  of  the  pillars,  and  bow  myself,  and  bring  the  House  of 
Lords  down.” 

“ Well,”  said  Welsh,  “ if  you  can  work  that  line  in  the 
chapel,  well  and  good.  I keep  to  my  province,  and  that  is 
the  manganese.  Why,  Condy’s  fluid,  I fancy,  is  perman- 
ganate of  potash — I can  lug  that  in  somehow.” 

“ Ah  ! ” said  Mrs.  Saltren,  who  was  becoming  impatient 
at  having  been  left  out  of  the  conversation,  “ at  the  park 
they  thought  a deal  about  Condy’s  fluid.” 

“ I can  manage  it  in  this  way,”  said  her  brother,  rubbing 
his  hands.  “ That  disinfectant  has  manganese  as  a con- 
stituent. His  lordship,  by  stopping  the  manganese  mine, 
cuts  off  a source  of  health,  a deodorising  and  disinfecting 
stream  from  entering  the  homes  of  sickness,  and  the  haunts 
of  fever.  Who  can  say  how  many  lives  may  be  sacrificed 
by  the  stopping  of  Wheal  Julia  ? I’ll  bring  in  Condy’s  fluid 
with  effect.  What  else  is  manganese  used  for  ? ” 

“ Bleaching,  I believe,”  said  Mrs.  Saltren. 

“ Ah  ! ” said  Mr.  Welsh,  “ that  can  be  worked  in  also, 
and  I’ll  pull  old  Isabelle  of  Castile  in  by  the  ears  as  well. 
She  vowed  she  would  not  change  her  smock  till  a 
certain  city  she  was  besieging  had  capitulated,  and  as  that 
city  held  out  three  months,  judge  the  colour  of  her  linen. 
We  are  all,  I presume,  to  wear  Isabelle  shirts — or  rather 
cuffs  and  collars — and  use  Isabelle  sheets  and  towels,  and 
eat  off  Isabelle  tablecloths,  and  the  ministers  of  the  Estab- 
lished Church  to  preach  in  Isabelle  surplices,  because,  for 
sooth,  the  supply  of  manganese  is  withheld  wherewith  to 
whiten  them.” 

“ Well,  it  does  seem  wrong,”  said  Mrs.  Saltren. 

“ And  then,”  continued  her  brother,  kindling  with  profes- 
sional enthusiasm,  “after  that  divorce  case,  too,  when  the 
noble  lords  and  ladies  washed  their  dirty  linen  in  public. 
You  can  figure  how  it  will  all  work  out.  Here  is  my  Lord 
Lamerton  knows  that  the  titled  aristocracy  have  so  much 


140 


ARMINELL. 


dirty  linen  at  home,  that  he  is  determined  to  prevent  the 
British  public  from  wearing  bleached  linen  at  all,  lest  they 
should  perceive  the  difference.  There  is  nothing,”  con- 
tinued Welsh,  with  a chuckle,  “ nothing  so  convenient  for 
one’s  purpose  as  well  mixing  one’s  hyperboles  and  analogies, 
and  drawing  just  any  conclusions  you  like  out  of  premises 
well  muddled  up  with  similitudes.  We  know  very  well,  my 
dear  Marianne,  that  the  bread  we  buy  of  the  bakers  is  com- 
posed of  some  flour,  and  some  alum,  and  some  plaster-of- 
paris,  and  some  china-clay,  but  we  don’t  stop  to  analyse  it 
at  our  breakfast;  we  cut  ourselves  a slice,  butter  it,  and  pop 
it  into  our  mouths,  and  like  it  a thousand  times  better  than 
home-made  bread  made  of  pure,  unadulterated  flour.  It  is 
just  the  same  with  political  articles  and  political  speeches. 
There’s  a lot  of  stuff  of  all  sorts  goes  into  them  besides  the 
flour  of  pure  reason.  And  the  British  public  don’t  analyse, 
they  swallow.  What  they  consume  they  expect  to  be  light 
and  to  taste  agreeably — they  don’t  care  a farthing  what  it  is 
made  up  of.” 

Mr.  Welsh  took  out  his  pocket-book,  and  dotted  down 
his  ideas.  “ Of  course,”  said  he,  talking  and  laughing  to 
himself,  “we  must  touch  this  off  with  a light  hand  in  a 
semi-jocose,  and  semi-serious  manner.  There  are  some 
folks  who  never  see  a joke,  or  rather  they  always  see  it  as 
something  grave.  They  are  like  earth-worms — all  swallow.” 

Mr.  Welsh  put  up  his  knee,  interlaced  his  fingers  round 
it,  and  began  to  swing  his  knee  on  a level  with  his  chest. 

“ If  you  want  to  rouse  the  British  public,”  he  said,  “you 
must  tickle  them.  You  can’t  do  much  with  their  heads, 
but  their  feelings  are  easily  roused.  Heads  ! — why  there 
was  no  getting  wisdom  out  of  the  head  of  Jupiter,  till  it  was 
clove  with  an  axe,  and  you  would  not  have  the  skull  of  the 
British  public  more  yielding  than  that  of  the  king  of  the 
gods.”  He  put  down  his  leg  that  he  had  been  hugging 
“ My  dear  sister,”  he  went  on,  “ I know  the  British  public, 


ARMINELL. 


I4T 


it  is  my  business  to  study  it  and  treat  it.  I know  its  moods, 
and  it  is  one  of  the  most  docile  of  creatures  to  drive. 
There  is  one  thing  it  loves  above  anything,  and  that  is  a 
sore.  Do  you  remember  how  Aunt  Susan  had  a bad  leg, 
and  how  she  went  on  about  that  leg,  the  pride  she  took  in 
it,  the  medicines  she  swallowed  for  it,  and  how  she  hated 
Betsy  Tucker  because  she  also  had  a bad  leg,  and  how  she 
contended  that  hers  was  the  worst,  the  most  inflamed,  and 
caused  her  most  pain  ? It  is  so  with  the  public.  It  must 
have  its  sore  ; and  show  it,  and  discuss  it,  and  apply  to  it 
quack  plasters,  and  drink  for  it  quack  draughts.  What  would 
the  doctors  do  but  for  the  Aunt  Susans  and  Betsy  Tuckers 
— their  fortunes  stand  on  these  old  women’s  legs.  So  is  it 
with  us — we  live  by  the  bad  legs  of  the  nation.  The  public, 
in  its  heart  of  hearts,  don’t  want  those  precious  legs  to  be 
healed — certainly  not  to  be  taken  off.  What  we  have  to  do 
is  to  keep  the  sores  angry  with  caustic,  and  poked  with 
needles.  And  that  is  just  why  I want  this  manganese  now, 
to  rub  it  into  the  legs  of  the  public  and  wake  the  sores  up 
into  irritation  once  more.” 

Then  Welsh  began  to  whistle  between  his  front  teeth  and 
swing  his  foot  again. 

“The  public,”  he  continued,  “are  like  Job  on  a dunghill, 
rubbing  its  sores.  The  public  has  no  desire  to  have  the 
dunghill  removed ; it  rather  likes  the  warmth.  When  it 
nods  off  into  a nap  then  we  stick  the  prongs  of  the  fork 
into  it,  and  up  it  starts  excited  and  angry,  and  we  turn  the 
heap  over  under  its  nose,  and  then  it  settles  down  into  it 
again  deeper  than  before.” 

“ I confess  I do  not  know  much  about  the  public,”  said 
Mrs  Saltren,  resolved  to  have  a word;  “but  when  you  come 
to  the  aristocracy,  why  then  you  are  on  my  ground.” 

“ On  your  ground,”  laughed  Welsh,  “ because  you  were 
lady’s  maid  at  the  Park;  that  is  like  the  land  surveyor  claiming 
a property  because  he  has  walked  over  it  with  a chain.” 


142 


ARMINELL. 


u At  all  events  the  surveyor  knows  it,”  said  Mia 
Saltren,  with  some  spirit,  “perhaps  better  than  does  the 
owner.” 

“ 1 admit  that  you  have  me  there,”  laughed  her  brother. 

“ And,”  said  Mrs.  Saltren,  “ it  is  pounds  on  pounds  I 
might  have  earned  by  sending  information  about  high  life 
to  the  society  papers  ; but  I was  above  doing  that  sort  of 
thing ; besides,  the  society  papers  were  not  published  at 
that  time.  Sometimes  there  were  as  many  as  a dozen  or 
fourteen  lady’s-maids  and  as  many  valets  staying  in  the 
house  with  their  masters  and  mistresses,  and  they  were  full 
of  the  most  interesting  information  and  bursting  to  reveal 
it,  like  moist  sugar  in  a paper-bag.” 

u I’ll  tell  you  what  it  is,”  said  Welsh,  “ servantdom  is 
becoming  a power  in  the  country,  just  as  the  press  has 
become.  There  is  no  knowing  nowadays  where  to  look  for 
the  seat  of  power ; it  is  at  the  other  extremity  from  the  head. 
In  old  times  the  serfs  and  slaves  were  not  of  account  at  all. 
and  now  their  direct  representatives  hold  the  characters  and 
happiness  of  the  best  in  the  land  in  their  hands.  The 
country  may  have  at  one  time  been  directed  by  its  head ; 
it  is  not  so  now,  like  a fish,  it  is  directed  and  propelled  by 
its  tail.  The  servant  class  at  one  time  was  despised,  now 
it  is  feared  ; it  mounts  on  its  two  wings,  the  divorce  court 
and  the  society  press.  What  opportunities  it  now  has  of 
paying  off  old  grudges,  of  pushing  itself  into  notoriety,  of 
earning  a little  money.  This  is  the  age  of  the  utilisation  of 
refuse.  We  find  an  employment  for  what  our  forefathers, 
nay,  our  fathers,  cast  aside.  The  rummage  of  copper  mines 
is  now  burnt  for  arsenic,  the  scum  of  coal-tar  makes  aniline 
dyes,  and  I hear  they  are  talking  of  the  conversion  of  dirty 
rags  by  means  of  vitriol  into  lump  sugar.  It  is  so  in  social 
and  political  life — we  are  using  up  our  refuse,  we  invest  it 
with  preponderating  political  influence,  we  chuck  it  into  the 
House  of  Commons,  and  right  it  should  be  so  ; give  every-  * 


ARMINELL. 


*43 


thing  a chance,  and  in  an  age  of  transformation  we  must 
turn  up  our  social  deposits.  If  it  were  not  so,  life  would  be 
a donkey-race  with  the  prize  for  the  last.” 

“ When  I was  companion  to  her  ladyship,”  began  Mrs. 
Saltren,  but  was  cut  short  by  her  brother — 

“ I beg  your  pardon,  Marianne,  when  was  that  ? I only 
knew  you  as  lady’s  maid.” 

“ I was  more  than  that,”  said  Mrs.  Saltren  flushing. 

“ Oh,  of  course,  lady  without  the  maid.” 

“ I might,  I daresay,  have  been  my  lady,  and  have  kept 
my  maid,”  said  Mrs.  Saltren,  tossing  her  head,  “ so  there 
is  no  point  in  your  sneers,  James.  You  may  be  a gentle- 
man, but  I am  a captain’s  wife,  and  might  have  been  more.” 
“ Oh,  indeed,  and  how  came  you  not  to  be  more  ? ” 

“ Because  I did  not  choose.” 

“ In  fact,”  fcaid  Welsh,  “ you  thought  you  were  in  for  a 
donkey-race.  By  George,  you  have  got  the  prize  ! ” 

“ You  are  really  too  bad,”  exclaimed  Mrs.  Saltren,  vexed 
and  angry  ; “I  could  tell  you  things  that  would  surprise 
you.  You  think  nothing  of  me  because  I am  not  rich  or 
grand,  and  have  to  do  the  house  work  in  my  home ; but  I 
have  been  much  considered  in  my  day,  and  admired,  and 
sought.  And  I have  had  my  wrongs,  which  I thought  to 
have  carried  with  me  to  my  grave,  but  as  you  choose  to 
insult  me,  your  sister,  with  saying  I came  in  last  at  a 
donkey-race,  I will  tell  you  that  properly  I ought  to  have 
come  in  first.” 

“And 'I,”  said  Saltren,  standing  up,  “I  insist  on  your 
speaking  out.”  He  had  remained  silent  for  some  time, 
offended  at  his  brother-in-law’s  incredulity,  and  not  particu- 
larly interested  in  what  he  was  saying,  which  seemed  to  him 
trifling. 

“ Let  us  hear,”  said  Welsh,  with  a curl  of  his  lips.  He 
had  no  great  respect  for  his  sister.  “You  must  let  me 
observe  in  passing  that  just  now  you  did  not  come  in  first 


144 


ARMINELL. 


because  you  wouldn’t,  and  now,  apparently,  it  is  because 
you  weren’t  allowed.” 

“ I have  no  wish,”  said  Marianne  Welsh,  not  noticing  the 
sneer,  “ to  make  mischief,  but  truth  is  truth.” 

“ Truth,”  interposed  Welsh,  who  had  the  family  infirmity 
of  loving  to  hear  his  own  voice,  “ truth  when  naked  is 
unpresentable.  The  public  are  squeamish,  and  turn  aside 
from  it  as  improper ; here  we  step  in  and  frizzle,  paint  and 
clothe  her,  and  so  introduce  her  to  the  public.” 

“ If  you  interrupt  me,  how  am  I to  go  on  ? ” asked  Mrs. 
Saltren,  testily.  “ I was  going  to  say,  when  you  interrupted 
with  your  coarse  remarks,  that  at  one  time  I was  a great 
beauty,  and  I don’t  suppose  I’ve  quite  lost  my  good  looks 
yet ; and  I was  then  very  much  sought.” 

“ And  what  is  more,”  said  Welsh,  “to  the  best  of  my  re- 
membrance you  were  not  like  a slug  in  a flower-bed,  that 
when  sought  digs  under  ground.” 

“I  tell  you,”  continued  Mrs.  Saltren,  with  heightened 
colour,  “ that  I have  been  sought  by  some  of  the  noblest  in 
the  land.” 

Welsh  looked  out  of  the  corners  of  his  eyes  at  his  sister, 
and  said  nothing. 

“ I was  cruelly  deceived.  A great  nobleman  whom  I will 
not  name — ” 

“ Whose  title  is  in  abeyance,”  threw  in  Welsh. 

“ Whom  I will  not  name,  but  might  do  so  if  I chose, 
obtained  a licence  for  a private  marriage,  and  a minister  to 
perform  the  ceremony,  and  there  were  witnesses — the 
nuptials  took  place.  Not  till  several  days  after  did  I dis- 
cover that  I had  been  basely  deceived.  The  licence  was 
forged,  the  minister  was  a friend  of  the  bridegroom  disguised 
as  a parson,  and  not  in  holy  orders,  and  the  witnesses  were 
sworn  to  secrecy.” 

“That  is  your  revelation,  is  it?”  asked  Jame*  Welsh. 
“ I write  it  with  a small  cap,  and  in  pica  print.” 


ARMINELL. 


145 


“ It  is  truth.” 

“ The  truth  dressed,  of  course,  and  not  in  tailor-made 
clothes.  I dress  the  truth  myself,  but — let  me  see,  never 
allow  of  so  much  margin  for  improvers.” 

Then  Welsh  stood  up. 

“ I must  be  off,  Marianne,  if  I am  to  catch  the  train. 
Saltren,  keep  the  manganese  in  agitation ; I will  be  with  you 
and  set  your  meeting  going.  Marianne,  I can  make  no 
more  of  your  revelation  than  I can  of  that  disclosed  by  your 
husband.  Facts,  my  dear  sister,  in  my  business  are  like  the 
wax  figures  in  Mrs.  Jarley’s  show.  They  are  to  be  dressed 
in  the  livery  of  our  political  colours,  and  it  is  wonderful 
what  service  they  will  do  thus ; but,  Marianne,  you  can’t 
make  the  livery  stand  by  itself,  there  must  be  facts  under- 
neath, it  matters  not  of  what  a wooden  and  skeleton  nature, 
they  hold  up  the  garments.  I can’t  say  that  I see  in  what 
you  have  told  me  any  supporting  facts  at  all,  only  a bund?^ 
of  tumbled,  theatrical,  romantic  rubbish.” 


CHAPTER  XVI. 


HOW  SALTREN  TOOK  IT. 

Mrs.  Saltren,  as  already  said,  as  Marianne  Welsh,  had 
been  good-looking  and  vain,  when  lady’s-maid  to  the 
dowager  Lady  Lamerton,  the  mother  of  the  present  lord. 
She  had  never  been  in  the  Park  with  Arminell’s  mother,  as 
she  had  pretended.  She  had  been  lady’s-maid  only  to  the 
dowager,  and  had  left  her  precipitately  and  married  Saltren 
a year  before  the  marriage  of  my  lord.  She  had  been  vain, 
and  thought  much  of ; her  good  looks  were  gone,  her  vanity 
had  not  departed  with  them.  Her  vanity  had  been  wounded 
by  the  loss  of  her  husband’s  esteem.  She  had  harboured 
anger  against  him  for  many  years  because  of  his  fantastic 
ideas,  and  straight-laced  morality.  No  one  is  perfect,  she 
argued,  and  Saltren,  who  pinned  his  religion  on  the  Bible, 
ought  to  have  been  the  first  to  admit  this.  The  just  man 
falleth  seven  times  a day,  and  she  had  tripped  only  once  in 
forty-two  years — over  fifteen  thousand  days.  If  she  could 
but  raise  the  veil  and  look  into  her  husband’s  past  life, 
argued  she,  no  doubt  she  would  see  comical  things  there. 
What  if  she  had  tripped  ? Were  not  the  ways  of  the  world 
slippery  ? Did  she  make  them  slippery  ? Had  she  created 
the  world  and  set  it  all  over  with  slides?  And  if  a person 
did  slip,  was  it  becoming  of  such  a person  to  lie  whimpering 
where  she  had  fallen  ? Did  not  that  show  lack  of  spirit  ? 
For  her  part,  after  that  slight  lapse,  she  had  hopped  on  her 
feet,  shaken  her  skirts,  and  warbled  a tune. 


ARMINELL. 


147 


It  is  a fact  patent  to  every  one,  that  the  further  we  recede 
from  an  object,  the  smaller  it  appears.  For  instance,  the 
dome  of  St.  Paul’s  when  we  stand  in  St.  Paul’s  Churchyard, 
looks  immense.  But  as  we  stand  on  Paul’s  Wharf,  waiting 
for  a steamer,  we  always  discover  that  the  small  intervening 
distance  has  diminished  the  dome  to  the  size  of  a dish-cover. 
As  we  descend  the  river,  the  cupola  decreases  in  proportion 
as  we  widen  our  distance  from  it,  till  it  is  reduced  to  an  in- 
considerable speck,  and  finally  sinks  beyond  the  range  of 
our  vision.  It  is  precisely  the  same  with  our  faults.  At 
the  moment  of  their  commission,  from  under  their  shadow, 
they  look  portentous  and  actually  oppress  us ; but  they  be- 
come sensibly  reduced  in  bulk  the  farther  we  drift  down 
life’s  stream  from  them.  What  immeasurably  weighed  on 
us  yesterday,  measurably  burden  us  to-day,  and  to-morrow 
are  perceptible  ; but  the  day  after  cease  to  discomfort  us. 
Not  so  only,  but  as  we  draw  further  from  our  past  fault,  we 
look  back  on  it  with  a sort  of  fond  admiration,  tinged  with 
sadness  ; we  lounge  over  the  bulwarks  of  our  boat,  opera- 
glass  in  hand,  and  consider  it  as  we  consider  the  dome  of 
St.  Paul’s,  as  an  adjunct  not  altogether  regrettable  in  the 
retrospect  ; for,  consider  how  uniform,  how  insufferable 
would  be  the  landscape,  without  breaks  in  the  sky  line. 

Now  Mrs.  Saltren  was  embarked  on  the  same  voyage  with 
Stephen,  her  husband,  and  naturally  expected  that  the  same 
object  which  at  one  moment  had  obscured  their  sun,  but 
which  rapidly  diminished  in  size  and  importance  and 
signification  to  her  eyes,  should  equally  tend  to  disappear 
from  his.  When,  however,  she  found  that  it  did  not,  she 
was  offended,  and  harboured  the  conviction  that  she  was 
herself  the  injured  party.  Why  were  not  Stephen’s  eyes 
constituted  as  the  eyes  of  other  men?  She  had  good 
occasion  to  take  umbrage  at  the  perversity  of  his  vision. 
She  had  admitted  at  one  time,  faintly,  and  with  a graceful 
curtsey,  a pretty  apology,  and  with  that  re’uctance  which  a 


148 


ARMINELL* 


woman  has  to  confess  a fault,  that  her  husband  had  been  an 
injured  man  ; but  now,  after  the  lapse  of  over  twenty  years, 
their  relative  positions  were  reversed.  The  cases  are  known 
of  girls  who  have  swallowed  packets  of  needles.  These 
needles  inside  have  caused  at  first  uneasiness  and  alarm  for 
the  consequences  ; but  when  they  gradually,  and  in  succes- 
sion, work  out,  some  at  the  elbows,  some  at  the  finger  ends, 
some  at  the  nose,  and  in  the  end  come  all  away,  they  cease 
to  trouble,  and  become  a joke.  It  is  so  with  our  moral 
transgressions.  When  committed,  they  plunge  us  in  an 
agony  of  remorse  and  fear;  but  gradually  they  work  out  of 
us,  point  or  head  foremost,  and  finally  we  get  rid  of  them 
altogether.  Now  Marianne  Welsh  and  Stephen  Saltren  had 
swallowed  a packet  of  needles  between  them,  and  they  were 
all  her  needles  which  had  entered  him.  She  did  not  retain 
hers  long,  but  as  they  worked  out  of  her,  they  worked  into 
him  and  transfixed  his  heart,  which  bristled  with  them,  like 
a christening  pin-cushion.  This,  of  course,  was  particularly 
annoying  to  her.  To  forgive  and  to  forget  is  a Christian 
virtue,  and  Saltren,  she  argued,  was  no  better  than  a heathen, 
for  all  his  profession,  because  he  neither  forgot  nor  for- 
gave. 

When  Mrs.  Saltren  made  the  announcement  to  her 
brother  and  husband,  that  a cruel  fraud  had  been  committed 
on  her,  she  had  acted  without  premeditation,  stung  to  the 
confession  by  her  galled  vanity  at  her  brother’s  disrespectful 
tone,  and  with  an  indefined,  immatured  desire  of  setting 
herself  to  rights  with  her  husband. 

The  story  had  been  contemptuously  cast  back  in  her 
face  by  James  Welsh  ; and  it  was  with  some  surprise  and 
much  satisfaction,  that  she  saw  her  husband  ready  to  accept 
it  without  question,  Captain  Saltren  had  not  offered  to 
accompany  his  brother-in-law  to  the  station,  which  was  four 
miles  distant ; he  could  hardly  wait  with  patience  his 
departure.  No  sooner  was  Welsh  gone,  than  Saltren 


ARMINELL. 


149 


grasped  his  wife's  arm,  and  said  in  his  deepest  tones,  “ 1 ell 
me  all,  Marianne,  tell  me  all  ! ” 

“ I ought,”  said  Mrs.  Saltren,  recovering  herself  from  the 
confusion  which  she  felt,  when  her  brother  ridiculed  her 
story,  “ I ought  at  this  day  to  wear  a coronet  of  diamonds. 
I was  loved  by  a distinguished  nobleman,  with  ardour.  I 
cannot  say  I loved  him  equally  ; but  I was  dazzled.  His 
family  naturally  were  strenuously  opposed  to  our  union ; 
but,  indeed,  they  knew  nothing  at  all  about  it.  He 
entreated  me  to  consent  to  have  our  union  celebrated  in 
private.  He  undertook  to  obtain  a special  licence  from  the 
Archbishop.  How  was  I to  know  that  my  simplicity  was 
being  imposed  upon  ? 1 was  an  innocent,  confiding  girl, 

ignorant  of  the  world’s  deceit ; and  extraordinarily  good- 
looking.” 

“ And  you  did  not  reckon  on  the  wickedness  of  the 
aristocracy.  Go  on.” 

But  Marianne  paused.  She  was  not  ready  to  fill  up  the 
details,  and  to  complete  her  narrative  without  considera- 
tion. 

“ Do  not  keep  me  in  torture  ! ” protested  Saltren  ; his 
face  was  twitching  convulsively. 

“How  could  I help  myself?”  asked  Marianne.  “It 
was  not  my  fault  that  I had  such  an  exquisite  complexion, 
such  abundant,  beautiful  hair,  and  such  lovely  eyes;  though, 
heaven  knows,  little  did  I know  it  then,  or  have  I thought 
of,  or  valued  it  since.  My  beauty  is,  to  some  extent,  gone 
now,  but  not  altogether.  As  for  my  teeth,  Stephen,  which 
were  pearls — I had  not  a decayed  one  in  my  jaws  then  ; but 
after  I married  you  they  began  to  go  with  worry,  and  be- 
cause you  did  not  trust  me,  and  were  unkind  to  me  ! ” 

“ Marianne,”  said  Saltren,  “ you  deceived  me — you 
deceived  me  cruelly.  You  told  me  nothing  of  this  when  I 
married  you.” 

“ I was  always  a woman  of  delicacy,  and  it  was  not  for 


ARMINELL. 


150 

me  to  speak.  I had  been  deceived  and  was  deserted. 
Only  when  too  late  did  I find  how  wickedly  I had  been  be- 
trayed, and  then,  when  you  came  by  and  found  me  in  my 
sorrow  and  desolation,  I clung  to  your  hand  ; I hoped  you 

would  be  my  consolation,  my  stay,  my  solace,  and  I — I ” 

She  burst  into  tears.  “ I have  been  bitterly  disappointed. 
I have  found  you  without  love,  churlish,  sullen,  holding  me 
from  you  as  if  I were  infected  with  the  plague,  not  ready  to 
clasp  me  as  an  unhappy,  suffering  woman,  that  needed  all 
the  love  and  pity  you  could  give.” 

“ Not  one  word  did  you  tell  me  of  all  this.  You  let  me 
marry  you  in  unsuspicion  that  before  you  had  loved 
another.” 

“ Not  at  all,  Stephen,”  she  said,  “ I have  already  assured 
you  that  I did  not  love  the  man  whom  I so  foolishly  and 
unfortunately  trusted.” 

“Why  have  you  not  told  me  this  story  long  ago?  Why 
have  you  left  me  in  the  dark  so  long  ? ” 

“ Your  own  fault,  Stephen,  none  but  yours.  If  you  had 
shown  me  that  consideration  which  becomes  a professing 
Christian,  I might  have  been  encouraged  to  open  my  poor, 
tired,  fluttering  heart  to  you  ; but  I was  always  a woman  of 
extreme  delicacy,  and  very  reserved.  *You,  however,  were 
distant,  and  cold,  and  jealous.  Then  my  pride  bade  me 
keep  my  tragic  story  to  myself.” 

Saltren  stood  before  her  with  folded  arms,  his  hands 
were  working.  He  could  not  keep  them  still  but  by  clasp- 
ing them  to  his  side.  “ I was  just,  Marianne  ! ” he  said. 
“Just,  and  not  severe  to  judge.  I judged  but  as  I knew 
the  facts.  If  I was  told  nothing,  I knew  nothing  to  ex- 
tenuate your  fault.  You  were  young  and  beautiful,  and  I 
thought  that  perhaps  you  had  not  strong  principles  to  guide 
you.  Now  that  you  have  told  me  all,  I allow  that  you 
were  more  sinned  against  than  sinning  ; but  I cannot  acquit 
you  of  not  entrusting  me  before  this  with  the  whole  truth.” 


ARMINELL. 


I5I 

“ You  never  asked  me  for  it.” 

“ No,”  he  answered  sternly.  “ I could  not  do  that.  It 
was  for  you  to  have  spoken.” 

Then,  all  at  once,  Saltren  began  to  tremble ; he  took 
hold  of  the  window-jamb,  and  he  shook  so  that  the  diamond 
panes  in  the  casement  rattled.  He  stood  there  quivering 
in  all  his  limbs.  Great  drops  formed  and  rolled  off  his 
tall  forehead,  hung  a moment  suspended  on  his  shaggy  l row 
and  then  fell  to  the  ground.  They  were  not  tears,  they 
were  the  anguish  drops  expressed  from  his  brain. 

Mrs.  Saltren  looked  at  him  with  astonishment  and  some 
trepidation.  She  never  had  comprehended  him.  She 
could  not  understand  what  was  going  on  in  him  now. 

“ What  is  it,  Stephen  ? ” 

He  waved  his  hand.  He  could  not  speak. 

“ But,  Stephen,  what  is  it?  Are  you  ill?” 

Then  he  threw  himself  before  her,  and  clasped  her  to 
him  furiously,  with  a cry  and  a sob,  and  broke  into  a convul- 
sion of  loud  weeping.  He  kissed  her  forehead,  hair,  and 
lips.  He  seized  her  hands,  and  covered  them  at  once  with 
tears  and  kisses. 

“Marianne!”  he  said  at  last,  with  a voice  interrupted 
and  choked.  “ For  all  these  years  we  have  been  divided, 
you  and  I,  I and  you,  under  one  roof,  and  yet  with  the 
whole  world  between  us.  I never  loved  any  but  you — 
never,  never  any ; and  all  these  long  years  there  has  been 
my  old  love  deep  in  my  heart,  not  dead,  but  sleeping ; and 
now  and  then  putting  up  its  hands  and  uttering  a cry,  and 
I have  bid  it  go  to  sleep  again  and  lie  still,  and  never  hoped 
that  the  trumpet  would  sound,  and  it  would  spring  up  to 
life  once  more.  But  why  did  you  not  tell  me  this  before  ? 
Why  did  you  hide  from  me  that  you  were  the  sufferer,  you 
the  wronged?  If  you  would  have  told  me  this,  I would 
have  forgiven  you  long  ago.  My  heart  has  been  hungering 
and  crying  out  for  love.  I have  seen  you  every  day,  and 


*5* 


ARMINELL. 


felt  that  I have  loved  you,  felt  it  in  every  vein.  To  me  you 
have  not  grown  old,  but  have  remained  the  same,  only  there 
was  this  shadow  of  a great  darkness  between  us.  I con- 
strained myself,  because  I considered  you  had  sinned  against 
God  and  me,  and  were  unworthy  of  being  loved  ! ” 

Again  he  drew  her  head  to  his  shoulder,  laid  it  there,  and 
kissed  her,  and  sobbed,  and  clasped  her  passionately. 

“ Marianne  ! Let  him  that  is  without  guilt  cast  the  first 
stone.  I forgive  you.  Tell  me  that  you  loved  me  when  I 
came  to  you  asking  you  to  be  mine.” 

“ I did  love  you,  Stephen — you  and  you  only.” 

“ And  that  other  ; he  who — ” he  did  not  finish  the  sen- 
tence— a fresh  fit  of  trembling  came  on  him. 

“I  never  did  love  him,  Stephen.  Only  his  title  and  his 
position  impressed  me.  I was  young,  and  he  was  so  much 
my  superior  in  age,  in  rank,  in  strength ; and  the  prospect 
opened  before  me  was  so  splendid,  that  a poor,  young, 
trustful,  foolish  thing  like  me — ” 

“ You  did  not  love  him  ? ” Stephen  spoke  with  eager- 
ness. 

“ I have  assured  you  that  I never  did.” 

“ Oh  the  age  that  we  have  spent  together  under  one  roof, 
united  yet  separated  ; one  in  name,  apart  in  soul ; years  of 
sorrow  to  both  of  us;  years  of  estrangement;  years  of  dis- 
appointed love,  and  broken  trust,  and  embittered  home — 
all  this  we  owe  to  him  ! ” 

Marianne  felt  his  heart  beating  furiously,  and  his  muscles 
contracting  spasmodically  in  his  face,  that  was  against  hers, 
in  his  breast,  in  his  arms. 

Has  it  ever  chanced  to  the  reader  to  encounter  a married 
couple  blind  to  each  other's  faults,  and  these  faults  glaring? 
One  might  suppose  that  daily  intercourse  would  have 
sharpened  the  perception  of  each  other’s  weaknesses,  but 
instead  of  that  it  blunts  it.  They  cannot  detect  in  each 
other  the  grotesque,  the  ugly,  the  false,  that  are  conspicuous 


ARMINELL. 


153 


and  offensive  to  everyone  else.  Love,  it  is,  which  has  softly 
dropped  the  veil  over  their  eyes,  or  withdrawn  from  them 
the  faculty  of  perceiving  in  each  other  these  blemishes 
which,  if  perceived,  would  make  common  life  unendurable. 
Love  is  well  painted  as  blind,  but  the  blindest  of  all  loves 
is  the  love  of  the  married.  In  the  case  of  the  Saltrens  the 
blindness  was  on  one  side  only,  because  on  his  side  only 
was  there  true  love.  This  had  dulled  his  perception,  so 
that  he  saw  not  the  shallowness,  untruthfulness,  vanity,  and 
heartlessness  of  Marianne,  qualities  which  her  brother  saw 
clearly  enough. 

“ You  have  borne  your  wrong  all  these  years  unavenged/ 
he  said.  “ My  God  ! how  I have  misjudged  you!  One 
word  more,  Marianne.”  He  disengaged  himself  from  her. 
He  had  been  kneeling  with  his  arms  enfolding  her;  nowT  he 
released  his  hold,  and  knelt,  bolt-upright,  with  his  hands 
depending  to  the  floor,  gaunt,  ungainly,  motionless.  “ Mar’- 
anne,”  he  said,  slowly,  “ I know  so  much  that  I must  be 
told  all.  I must  know  the  rest.”  He  paused  for  full  a 
minute,  looking  her  steadily  in  the  face,  still  kneeling  up- 
right, stiffly,  uncouthly.  “ Who  was  he  ? ” 

Marianne  did  not  speak.  Now  in  turn  agitation  over- 
came her.  Had  she  gone  too  far  with  this  story,  true  or 
false  ? 

She  raised  her  hands  deprecatingly.  What  would  the 
consequences  be  ? 

Then,  all  at  once,  with  a shriek  rather  than  a cry,  Saltren 
leaped  to  his  feet. 

“ You  need  not  say  a word.  I know  all  now,  all — with- 
out your  telling  me.  You  were  in  the  Park  at  the  time  with 
the  old  Lady  I amerton,  and — and  you  had  the  boy  named 
after  him.” 

Had  there  been  light  in  the  room,  it  would  have  been 
seen  how  pale  was  the  face  of  Mrs.  Saltren,  but  that  of  her 
husband,  the  captain,  had  turned  a deadlier  white  still. 


AR  MI  NELL. 


*54 

t{  It  all  unfolds  before  me,  all  becomes  plain  ! ” he  cried. 
“I  wondered  whose  was  the  head  I saw  on  the  book.” 

“ On  what  book,  Stephen  ?” 

“ I feared,  I doubted,  but  now  I doubt  no  more.  It  was 
his  likeness  ! ” 

“ What  book  do  you  mean  ? ” 

“ The  book  of  the  Everlasting  Gospel  which  I saw  an 
angel  carry  in  his  right  hand,  flying  in  the  midst  of  heaven  ; 
and  he  cast  the  book  down,  and  the  book  was  dipped  in 
blood ; and  when  it  fell  into  the  water,  the  water  was  turned 
to  blood,  as  the  river  of  Egypt  when  Israel  was  about  to 
escape.” 

The  door  flew  open,  and  Giles  Inglett  Saltren  entered, 
wearing  a light  coat  thrown  over  his  evening  dress.  As  he 
came  in  he  removed  his  hat. 

Captain  Saltren  turned  on  him  with  flashing  eyes,  and  in 
his  most  sonorous  tones  said,  as  he  waved  him  away  : “ Go 
back,  go  back  whence  you  came.  You  have  no  part  in  me. 
You  are  not  my  son.  Return  to  him  who  has  cared  for 
you  : to  him  who  is  your  father — Lord  Lamerton.” 


CHAPTER  XVII. 


HOW  JINGLES  TOOK  IT. 

Giles  In^kit  Saltren  stood  motionless,  his  hat  in  one 
hand,  with  the  other  holding  the  door,  looking  at  the  cap- 
tain. No  amp  had  been  lighted  in  the  room  since  the  sun 
had  set,  ard  he  could  only  see  his  father’s  face  indistinctly 
by  the  pal<*  evening  sky  light  cast  in  through  the  window 
and  door.  But  he  would  have  known  from  the  tones  of  his 
father’s  voice  that  he  was  profoundly  moved,  even  if  he  had 
not  caught  the  words  he  uttered.  At  first,  indeed,  he  was 
too  surprised  to  comprehend  the  full  force  of  these  words  ; 
but,  when  their  significance  became  clear  to  him,  he  also 
became  moved,  and  he  said  gravely  : 

“ This  must  be  explained.” 

“ What  I said  is  quickly  explained,”  answered  the  captain  ; 
and  he  rose  to  his  feet. 

Does  the  reader  remember  a familiar  toy  of  childhood 
composed  of  pretty  birds,  with  feathers  stuck  in  them,  strung 
on  horsehair  or  wires  so  as  to  form  a sort  of  cage,  but  with  this 
difference,  that  the  cage  did  not  contain  the  birds  ? When 
this  toy  was  set  down,  all  the  little  figures  quivered  slowly, 
uncertainly,  to  the  bottom,  and  when  it  was  reversed,  the 
same  process  was  repeated.  It  was  so  with  the  captain’s 
speech.  His  words  were  threaded  on  the  tremulous  strings 
of  his  vocal  organ,  and  not  only  quivered  from  a high  pitch 
down,  but  also  went  up  from  a low  one  with  much  vibration 
on  high.  A voice  of  this  quality  is  provocative  of  sympathy  ; 


156 


ARMINELL. 


as,  when  a violincello  string  is  touched,  a piano  chord 
trembles  responsive.  Such  voices  make  not  the  voices,  but 
the  hearts  of  other  men  to  tremble.  I know  a slater  who, 
when  I am  ordering  of  him  slates,  brings  tears  into  my  eyes 
by  asking  if  I will  have  “ Duchess  ” or  “ Rag.” 

“ My  words  are  quickly  explained,”  said  Stephen  Saltren. 
“ I have  never  regarded  you  as  my  son — have  never  treated 
you  as  such.  You  know  that  I have  shown  you  no  fatherly 
affection,  because  I knew  from  the  beginning  that  not  a 
drop  of  my  blood  flowed  in  your  veins.  But  never,  before 
this  evening,  have  I allowed  you,  or  any  one  else,  to  suspect 
what  I knew,  lest  the  honour  of  your  mother  should  suffer. 
Now,  and  only  now,  has  the  entire  truth  been  disclosed  to 
me.  I did  not  suspect  it,  no,  not  when  you  were  christened 
and  given  the  name  you  bear.  I thought  it  was  a compli- 
ment paid  through  a fancy  of  your  mother’s  to  the  family  in 
which  she  had  lived,  that  was  all.  A little  flickering 
suspicion  may  have  been  aroused  afterwards,  when  his  lord- 
ship,  to  save  you  from  consumption,  sent  you  abroad ; but 
I put  it  angrily  from  me  as  unworthy  of  being  harboured. 
I had  no  real  grounds  for  suspicion ; since  then  it  has  come 
up  in  my  heart  again  and  again,  and  I have  stamped  down 
the  hateful  thought  with  a kind  of  rage  and  shame  at  myself 
for  thinking  it.  Only  to-night  has  the  whole  story  been 
told  me,  and  I find  that  vour  mother  was  not  to  blame — 
that  no  real  dishonour  stains  her — that  all  the  fault,  all  the 
guilt,  lies  on  and  blackens — blackens  and  degrades  his 
soul ! ” 

“ I did  not  mean  to  say — that  is,  I did  not  wish — ” began 
Mrs.  Saltren,  in  a weeping,  expostulating  tone. 

“ Marianne,  say  nothing.”  Captain  Saltren  turned  to  her. 
“It  is  not  for  you  to  justify  yourself  to  your  child.  The 
story  shall  be  told  him  by  me.  I will  spare  you  the  pain 
and  shame.” 

“But,  mother,”  said  Jingles,  shutting  the  door  behind 


ARMINELL. 


J57 


him  and  leaning  his  back  against  it,  “ I must  be  told  the 
whole  truth.  I must  have  it  at  least  confirmed  by  your 
lips.” 

“My  dear,” — Mrs.  Saltren’s  voice  shook — i(I  would  not 
make  mischief,  for  the  world.  I hate  above  everything  the 
mischief-makers.  If  there  be  one  kind  of  people  I abhor  it 
is  those  who  make  mischief ; and  1 am,  thank  heaven,  not 
one  of  such.” 

“ Quite  so,”  said  her  son,  gravely ; “ but  I must  know 
what  I have  to  believe,  for  I must  act  on  it.” 

“ Oh,  my  dear,  do  nothing  ! Let  it  remain,  if  you  love 
me,  just  as  if  it  had  never  been  told.  I should  die  of  shame 
were  it  to  come  out.” 

“It  shall  not  come  out,”  said  Giles  ; “but  I must  know 
from  your  lips,  mother,  whether  I am — I cannot  say  it. 
My  happiness,  my  future  depend  on  my  knowledge  of  what 
my  real  parentage  is.  You  can  understand  that?” 

“ Well,  then,  it  is  true  that  you  are  not  Stephen  Saltren’s 
son,  and  it  is  true  that  I was  a shamefully-used  and  deceived 
woman,  and  that  I had  no  bad  intentions  whatever.  I was 
always  a person  of  remarkable  delicacy  and  refinement  above 
my  station.  As  for  who  your  father  was,  I name  no  names; 
and,  indeed,  just  now,  when  the  captain  asked  me,  I said 
the  same — that  I would  name  no  names,  and  so  I stick  to 
the  same  resolution,  and  nothing  more  shall  be  torn  from 
me,  not  if  you  were  to  tear  me  to  pieces  with  a chain 
harrow.” 

“Come  without,”  said  the  captain,  “and  you  shall  hear 
from  me  how  it  came  to  pass.  We  must  spare  your  mother’s 
feelings.  She  was  not  in  fault,  she  was  wickedly  imposed 
on.” 

Then  the  mining  captain  moved  to  the  door;  Giles 
Inglett  opened  it,  and  stood  aside  to  allow  his  reputed  father 
to  go  through ; then  he  followed  him  and  shut  the  door 
behind  them. 


ARMINELL. 


158 

Half  an  hour  passed.  Mrs.  Saltren  remained  for  some 
minutes  seated  where  she  had  been,  consoling  herself  with 
the  reflection  that  she  had  named  no  names  ; and  that,  if 
mischief  came  of  this,  the  fact  would  attach  to  Saltren,  not 
to  her.  A little  while  ago  we  said  that  love  was  blind, 
hymeneal  love  most  blind  ; but  blind  with  incurable  oph- 
thalmia, blindest  of  all  blindness,  is  self-love. 

Mrs.  Saltren  rose  and  went  about  her  domestic  affairs. 

“No  one  can  charge  me, ” said  she,  “with  having  kept 
my  house  untidy,  or  with  having  left  unmended  my  hus- 
band’s clothes.  To  think  of  the  cartloads  of  buttons  I’ve 
put  on  during  my  married  life  ! It  is  enough  to  convince 
any  but  the  envious.  Well,  it  is  a comfort  that  Stephen 
has  been  brought  to  his  senses  at  last,  and  come  to  view 
matters  in  a proper  light.  I’ve  heard  James  say  that  there 
is  a nerve  goes  from  each  eyeball  into  the  brain,  and  afore 
they  enter  it  they  take  a twist  about  each  other,  and,  so 
coupled,  march  in  together.  And  James  said  if  it  were  not 
so  we  should  see  double,  and  neither  eye  would  agree  with 
the  other.  I mind  quite  well  that  he  said  this  one  day 
when  I was  complaining  to  him  that  Stephen  and  I didn’t 
get  on  quite  right  together.  He  said  we’d  get  our  twist 
one  day  and  then  see  all  alike.  What  he  said  is  come 
true ; leastways,  the  proper  twist  has  come  in  Stephen. 
Thank  God,  I always  see  straight.” 

She  went  to  a corner  cupboard  and  opened  it. 

“ Now  that  Stephen  is  gone,”  she  said,  “ I’ll  rinse  out  the 
glass  James  had  for  his  gin-and-water.  Saltren  is  . that 
crazy  on  teetotalism  that  he  would  be  angry  if  he  knew  I 
had  given  James  any,  and  angry  to  think  I kept  spirits  in 
the  house  ; and  because  he  is  so  stupid  I’m  obliged  to  put 
it  in  a medicine-bottle  with  4 For  outward  application  only’ 
on  it,  and  say  it  is  a lotion  for  neuralgia.  It  is  a mercy  that 
I named  no  names,  so  my  conscience  is  clear.  It  is  just  as 
in  Egypt,  when  there  was  darkness  over  all  the  land,  the 


ARM  I NELL.  1 59 

Israelites  had  light  in  their  dwellings.  I thank  goodne  s 
I’ve  always  the  clearest  of  light  in  me.” 

She  removed  the  tumbler  and  washed  it  in  the  back 
kitchen. 

“When  one  comes  to  consider  it,  after  all,  Stephen  isn’t 
so  very  much  out  in  his  reckoning.  When  does  a noble- 
man take  a delicate  lad  out  of  a school  and  send  him  to  a 
warm  climate  because  his  lungs  are  affected,  and  then  give 
him  scholarship  and  college  education,  without  having 
something  that  makes  him  do  it?  Are  there  no  other 
delicate  lads  with  weak  lungs  besides  Giles?  Why  did  not 
his  lordship  send  them  to  Bordighera?  Are  there  no 
other  clever  young  fellows  in  national  schools  besides  my 
boy,  to  be  taken  up  and  pushed  on?  There  must  have 
been  some  reason  for  my  lord  selecting  Giles.  Was  it 
because  I had  been  in  service  in  the  house?  Other  young 
women  out  of  the  Park  have  married  and  had  children,  but 
I never  heard  of  my  lord  doing  anything  for  their  sons. 
None  of  them  have  been  sent  to  college  and  made  into 
gentlemen  except  my  boy.  But  then  I was  uncommonly 
good-looking,  that  is  true,  and  not  another  young  hussey  at 
the  Park  was  fit  to  hold  a candle  to  me.  Though,  the 
Lord  knows,  I never  set  store  on  good  looks.  If  it  pleases 
his  lordship  to  treat  Giles  almost  as  if  he  were  a son,  he 
has  a right  to  do  so,  but  he  must  take  the  consequences. 
I don’t  interfere  with  the  fancies  of  others,  but  if  any  one 
chooses  to  do  a queer  thing,  he  must  expect  to  have  to 
answer  for  it.  I have  no  doubt  that  his  lordship  has  fre- 
quently wished  he  had  a son,  such  a fine  and  handsome 
fellow  as  my  Giles,  and  for  some  years  he  was  without  any 
son  of  his  own  to  inherit  his  title.  There  was  only  Miss 
Arminell.  Anyhow,  no  responsibility  attaches  to  me,  what- 
ever may  be  said.  No  one  can  blame  me.  His  lordship 
ought  never  to  have  taken  notice  of  Giles,  never  to  have 
had  the  doctor  examine  his  lungs,  and,  when  told  that  the 


i6o 


ARMINELL. 


boy  would  die  unless  sent  to  the  south  of  France,  he  should 
have  said,  ‘ He  is  the  son  of  poor  parents,  who  can’t  afford 
the  expense,  so  I suppose  he  must  die.’  No  one  could 
have  blamed  him,  then.  And  when  Giles  came  back — 
better,  but  still  delicate,  and  not  suited  to  do  hard  work — 
my  lord  should  not  have  sent  him  to  school  and  college, 
and  taken  him  in  at  Orleigh  Park  as  tutor  to  his  son — he 
should  not  have  done  any  of  these  things  unless  he  had 
made  up  his  mind  to  take  the  consequences.  Scripture 
says  that  no  man  sets  down  to  build  a tower  without  having 
first  counted  the  cost.  It  is  not  at  all  unlikely  that  folks 
will  say  queer  things,  and  I know  for  certain  my  husband 
thinks  queer  fancies  about  my  boy  and  Lord  Lamer 
ton  ; but  who  is  to  blame  for  that?  If  his  lordship  didn’t 
want  to  make  it  thought  by  all  the  world  that  Giles  was  his 
son,  all  I can  say  is,  he  shouldn’t  have  done  for  him  what 
he  did.  It  is  not  my  place  to  stop  idle  talk.  I’d  like  to 
know  whether  it  is  any  woman’s  duty  to  run  about  a parish 
correcting  the  mistakes  made  by  the  gossiping  tongues 
therein.  I thank  heaven  I am  not  a gadabout.  I do  my 
duty,  washing,  and  ironing,  and  mending  of  waistcoats,  and 
sewing  on  of  buttons,  and  darning  of  stocking-feet,  and 
baking  of  meat-dumplings,  and  peeling  of  potatoes  ; that  is 
what  my  work  is,  and  I do  it  well.  I don’t  take  upon  me 
the  putting  to  rights  of  other  folks  when  in  error.  Every 
one  stands  for  himself.  If  you  cut  the  wick  crooked  you 
must  expect  your  chimney-glass  to  get  smoked,  and,  if  Lord 
Lamerton  has  snipped  his  wick  askew,  he  must  look  out 
for  fish-tails.” 

Mrs.  Saltren  removed  her  petroleum  lamp-glass,  struck  a 
match,  and  proceeded  slowly  to  light  her  lamp. 

“ I remember  James  telling  me  once,  how  that  he  had 
been  in  France,  I think  he  called  it  La  Vendee,  where  the 
fields  are  divided  by  dykes  full  of  stagnant  water  ; and  one 
of  the  industries  of  the  place  is  the  collecting  of  leeches. 


ARMINELL, 


161 


The  men  roll  up  their  breeches  above  the  knee  and  carry  a 
pail,  and  wade  in  the  ditches,  and  now  and  again  throw  up 
a leg,  and  sweep  off  two,  three,  or  it  may  be  a dozen 
leeches  from  the  calf  into  the  pail.  Then  they  wade 
further,  and  up  with  a leg  again,  and  off  with  a fresh  batch 
of  leeches.  I haven’t  been  in  a big  house,  and  seen  the 
ways  of  the  aristocracy,  and  not  found  out  that  they  are 
waders  in  leech  dykes,  and  that  it  is  as  much  as  they  can 
do  to  keep  their  calves  clear,  and  their  blood  from  being 
sucked  out  of  them  altogether.  Now  what  I want  to  know 
is,  if  a starved  leech  does  bite,  and  suck  and  swell,  and  is 
not  wiped  off  and  sent  to  market,  but  gets  reg’lar  blown  out 
with  blood,  hasn’t  that  leech  a right  to  say  that  he  has  in 
him  the  blood  of  the  man  to  whom  he  has  attached  him- 
self? I’d  ask  any  independent  jury  whether  my  Giles 
Inglett  has  eaten  and  drunk  more  at  Saltren’s  expense,  or  * 
at  that  of  his  lordship,  whether  he  does  not  owe  his  very 
life  to  his  lordship  as  much  as  to  me,  for  he’d  have  died  of 
decline,  if  he  had  not  been  sent  to  the  South  ? And  if  he 
owes  his  life  to  Lord  Lamerton  equally  as  he  does  to  me, 
and  has  been  fed  and  clothed,  and  educated  by  him  and 
not  by  Saltren.  why  then,  like  the  leech,  he  can  say  he  has 
the  blood  of  the  Lamertons  in  him.  That  is  common 
sense.  And  again — bother  that  lamp  ! ” 

Mrs.  Saltren  in  place  of  turning  the  wick  up,  had  turned 
it  down,  and  was  obliged  to  remove  the  chimney  and  strike 
another  match. 

“ And  then,”  she  continued,  “if  Lord  Lamerton  has  not 
chose  to  wipe  him  off  into  the  pail,  who  is  to  blame  but 
himself?  If  he  choose  to  keep  his  leg  in  a leech  pond, 
there’s  neither  rhyme  nor  reason  in  my  objecting ; and  he 
has  no  claim  to  cry  out.  Put  Giles  on  a plate,  and  sprinkle 
salt  on  him,  and  whose  blood  will  come  out?  Any  one 
can  see  he  is  a gentleman  ! He  has  imbibed  it  all,  his 


L 


162 


ARMINELL. 


manners,  his  polish,  his  knowledge,  everything  he  has,  from 
Lord  Lamerton  and  others ; all  the  world  can  see  it.” 

Then  in  came  the  young  man  about  whom  she  was  argu- 
ing with  herself.  He  could  not  speak  so  great  was  his 
agitation,  but  he  went  to  his  mother,  and  threw  his  arms 
about  her,  clasped  her  to  his  heart,  and  kissed  her.  For 
some  time  he  could  not  say  anything,  but  after  a while  he 
conquered  his  emotion  sufficiently  to  say  — 

“ Oh,  my  mother — my  poor  mother  ! Oh,  my  dear,  my 
ill-used  mother  ! ” and  then  again  his  emotions  got  the 
better  of  him.  “ I cannot,”  he  said,  after  a pause,  with  a 
renewed  effort  to  govern  himself,  “ I cannot  say  what  I 
shall  do  now,  I cannot  even  think,  but  I am  sure  of  one 
thing,  I must  remain  no  longer  at  the  Park.” 

“ My  boy  ! ” exclaimed  Mrs.  Saltren.  “ Fall  off  yourself 
into  the  plate  and  salt  ! ” 

“ I do  not  understand,”  said  he.  She  left  him  in  his 
ignorance ; she  had  been  thinking  of  the  leeches. 

“ My  dear  Giles  ! Whatever  you  do,  don’t  breathe  a 
word  of  this  to  any  one.” 

u Mother,  I will  not,  you  may  be  sure  of  that.” 

“Not  to  Lord  Lamerton  above  all — not  for  heaven’s 
sake.” 

u Least  of  all  to  him.” 

“ I should  get  into  such  trouble.  Oh,  my  gracious  ! ” 

“ Mother,  dear,”  the  young  fellow  clasped  her  to  his 
heart  again,  “ how  inexpressibly  precious  you  are  to  me 
now,  and  how  I grieve  for  you.  I can  say  no  more  now.” 
Then  he  went  forth. 

“ Why,  bless  me  ! ” exclaimed  Mrs.  Saltren.  “ He  never 
was  so  affectionate  before.  Well,  as  far  as  human  reason 
goes,  it  does  seem  as  if  all  things  were  being  brought  to 
their  best  for  me  ; for  this  day  has  given  me  my  husband’s 
love  and  doubled  that  of  my  son.” 

Giles  fnglett  Saltren  walked  hastily  back  to  the  Park. 


ARMINELL. 


163 

On  his  way  he  encountered  Samuel  Ceely,  who  put  forth 
his  maimed  hand,  and  crooked  the  remaining  fingers  in  his 
overcoat  to  arrest  him,  as  he  went  by. 

“What  do  you  want  with  me?”  asked  Jingles  impatiently. 

“ I should  be  so  glad  if  you  would  put  in  a word  for  me,  ''’ 
pleaded  the  old  man. 

“I  am  engaged — I cannot  wait.” 

“ But,”  urged  old  Ceely,  without  letting  go  his  hold, 
“Joan  has  axed  Miss  Arminell  fora  scullery-maid’s  place 
for  me.  Now  I’d  rather  have  to  do  wi’  the  dogs,  or  I could 
keep  the  guns  beautifully  clean,  or  even  the  stables.” 

“I  really  cannot  attend  to  this!”  said  Jingles  impatiently. 
“I  have  other  matters  of  more  importance  now  on  my 
mind ; besides,  my  influence  is  not  what — ” he  spoke 
bitterly — “ what  it  should  be  in  the  great  house.” 

“You  might  da  me  a good  turn,  and  speak  a word  for 
me.” 

“ The  probability  of  my  speaking  a good  word  for  you,  or 
any  one,  to  Lord  Lamerton,  or  of  doing  any  one  a good  turn 
in  Orleigh  Park,  is  gone  from  me  for  ever,”  said  Giles. 
“ You  must  detain  me  no  longer — it  is  useless.  Let  me  go.” 

He  shook  himself  free  from  the  clutch  or  the  old  man, 
and  walked  along  the  road. 

After  he  had  gone  several  paces,  perhaps  a hundred 
yards,  he  turned — moved  by  what  impulse  was  unknown  to 
him — and  looked  back.  In  the  road,  lit  by  the  moon, 
stood  the  cripple,  stretching  forth  his  maimed  hand  after 
him,  with  the  claw-like  fingers. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 


HOW  ARMINELL  TOOK  IT. 

Giles  Inglett  Saltren  walked  on  fast,  he  was  disturbed 
in  the  stream  of  his  thoughts  by  the  interruption  of  the 
tiresome  old  cripple.  He  had  more  important  matters  to 
occupy  his  mind  than  the  requirements  of  Samuel  Ceely. 
His  heart  beat,  his  hands  became  moist.  What  a mar- 
vellous disclosure  had  been  made  to  him — and  he  wondered 
at  himself  for  not  having  divined  it  before.  He  argued 
much  as  did  his  mother.  Why  had  Lord  Lamerton  done 
such  great  things  for  him,  why  had  he  sent  him  abroad, 
found  him  money,  given  him  education,  lifted  him  far 
above  the  sphere  in  which  his  parents  moved,  unless  he 
felt  called  to  do  so  by  a sense  of  responsibility,  such  as 
belongs  to  a father  ? 

To  a whole  class  of  minds  disinterested  conduct  is  in- 
conceivable. All  such  conduct  as  is  oblique  is  to  them 
intelligible,  and  allowance  is  made  by  them  for  stupidity, 
and  stupidity  with  them  is  the  same  thing  as  unselfishness. 
But  such  unselfishness  is  permissible  only  by  fits  as  lapses 
from  the  course  which  all  men  naturally  take.  But  that 
men  should  act  consistently  on  disinterested  motives  is  an 
idea  too  preposterous  for  them  to  allow  of  its  existence. 

This  class  of  minds  does  not  belong  specially  to  any 
particular  stratum  of  society,  though  it  is  found  to  be  most 


ARMINELL.  1 65 

prevalent  where  the  struggle  for  existence  is  most  keen,  and 
where  there  is  least  culture. 

But  of  culture  there  are  two  kinds,  that  which  is  ex- 
ternal, and  that  which  is  within  : it  is  generally  found  that 
this  inability  to  understand  disinterested  conduct  is  found 
everywhere  where  the  inner  culture  does  not  exist. 

There  is,  we  believe,  a Rabbinic  legend  concerning  a 
certain  cow  which  was  its  own  calf,  and  much  disputation 
ensued  among  the  Talmudists,  to  determine  the  point  of 
time  at  which  the  cow  calved  itself,  and  when  it  ceased  to 
be  accounted  beef,  and  became  veal,  or  the  contrary.  But 
what  seems  to  us  Gentiles  to  be  impossible  in  the  material 
sense,  is  possible  enough  in  the  spiritual  realm,  and  a very 
calf-like  self  may  become  the  mother  of  a cow-self,  so  vast, 
so  considerable  that,  like  the  Brahminic  cow,  Varuna,  it 
will  occupy  the  entire  firmament,  extend  to  the  horizon  on 
all  sides,  and  overshadow  and  envelope  everything.  Varuna 
in  fact  is  the  universe,  and  as  we  see  and  exist  in  that  uni- 
verse, so  with  the  cow-self  born  of  calf-self,  it  becomes  our 
universe.  We  see  only  that  cow,  inhale  the  breath  of  that 
cow,  think  only  cow  thoughts,  stand  on  cow,  and  our  as- 
pirations are  limited  on  all  sides  by  cow.  That  cow  is 
Self  born  of  self.  The  breath  of  that  cow  is  sweet  to  our 
nostrils,  its  milk  the  nourishment  of  our  bowels,  its  low  is 
music  to  our  ears,  and  nothing  that  does  not  smell  and 
taste  and  sound  of  that  cow  is  worthy  of  being  smelt,  and 
tasted,  and  listened  to. 

Of  this  cow  we  can  give  information  unattainable  by  the 
Rabbis.  We  can  watch  its  development,  if  we  cannot 
determine  the  moment  of  its  nativity.  It  probably  comes 
to  the  birth  at  an  early  age,  but  there  is  this  deserving  of 
consideration  about  it  that  this  cow  born  of  calf  can  be 
bled  to  whiteness,  and  knocked  on  the  head  if  taken  in 
time. 

If,  however,  it  be  allowed  to  attain  to  heiferhood,  it  is 


1 66 


ARMINELL. 


thenceforth  unmanageable  : we  see  everything  through  its 
medium,  and  like  and  cislike,  love  and  hate  ail  objects  and 
persons  as  they  stand  within  or  without  of  the  compass  of 
the  great  cow-self,  which  has  become  our  Varuna,  our  uni- 
verse. 

It  must  not  be  supposed  that  such  as  live  under  the 
shadow  of  this  great  cow,  are  oppressed  by  it.  On  the  con- 
trary they  have  become  so  accustomed  to  it  that  they  could 
not  exist  apart  from  it.  There  is  a story  of  a man  who 
carried  a monstrous  cow  on  his  shoulders,  and  explained 
that  he  had  acquired  the  ability  to  do  so  by  beginning  with 
the  creature  when  it  was  a day  old.  As  the  calf  grew,  so 
grew  his  ability  to  support  its  weight.  It  is  the  same  with 
us,  we  carry  the  little  calf-self  about  on  our  shoulder,  and 
dance  along  the  road  and  leap  over  the  stones,  and  as  day 
by  day  the  calf  grows,  so  does  our  capacity  for  carrying  it, 
till  at  lai  t we  trudge  about  everywhere,  into  all  society,  even 
into  church,  with  the  monstrous  cow-self  on  our  shoulders, 
and  do  not  feel  that  we  have  anything  weighing  on  us  what- 
soever. 

Now  Giles  Inglett  Saltren  had  grown  up  nursing  and 
petting  this  calf.  He  had  good  natural  abilities,  but  partly 
through  his  mother’s  folly,  partly  through  external  circum- 
stances, he  had  come  to  see  everything  through  a medium 
of  self.  The  notice  taken  of  him  by  his  schoolmaster  be- 
cause he  was  intelligent,  by  Lord  Lamerton  because  he  was 
delicate,  the  very  stethoscoping  of  his  lungs,  the  jellies  and 
grapes  sent  him  from  the  great  house,  the  petting  he  got  in 
the  servants’  hall,  because  he  was  handsome  and  interest- 
ing, the  superiority  he  had  acquired  over  his  parents  by  his 
residen.ee  abroad,  and  education,  all  tended  to  the  feeding 
a id  fattening  or  the  calf-self ; and  the  cod-liver  oil  he  had 
consumed,  had  not  merely  gone  to  restore  his  lungs,  but  to 
1 uild  up  piles  of  yellow  fat  on  the  llanks  of  self.  Jingles 
had  a ready  reached  that  point  at  which  his  cow  had  1 e- 


m 


ARMINELL. 


167 


come  Varuna,  his  entire  universe.  He  thought  of,  con- 
sidered, nothing  from  any  other  point  of  view  than  as  it 
touched  himself. 

His  consciousness  of  discomfort  in  the  society  of  Orleigh, 
his  bitterness  of  mood,  his  resentment  of  the  distinctions 
not  purposely  made,  but  naturally  existing  and  necessarily 
insuperable,  between  himself  and  those  with  whom  he 
associated,  all  this  sprang  out  of  the  one  source,  all  came  of 
the  one  disease — intense,  all-absorbing,  all-prevailing  self- 
ishness. 

He  observed  the  natural  ease  that  pervaded  all  the  actions 
of  those  with  whom  he  was  brought  into  contact  in  the 
upper  world,  and  their  complete  lack  of  self-consciousness, 
their  naturalness,  simplicity,  in  all  they  said  and  did.  He 
had  not  got  it — he  could  not  acquire  it,  he  was  like  a maid- 
of-all-work  from  a farmhouse  on  a market  day  in  the  county 
town  wearing  a Mephistopheles  hat  on  her  red  head,  and 
ten-button  gloves  on  her  mottled  arms.  He  was  conscious 
of  his  self-consciousness — he  feared  it  would  be  remarked. 
It  made  him  suspicious  and  envious  and  angry.  He  could 
not  reach  to  the  ease  of  those  above  him,  and  therefore  he 
desired  to  level  them  to  his  own  plane.  A man  with  black 
blood  in  his  veins  is  fearful  lest  those  at  the  table  should 
look  at  his  nails.  Jingles  was  ever  dreading  lest  some 
chance  glance  should  discover  the  want  of  breed  in  himself. 

This  caused  him  much  misery  ; and  this  all  came  of  his 
carrying  about  the  cow-self  with  him  into  my  lady’s  boudoir, 
and  my  lord’s  study,  to  the  dining-room,  and  to  the  parlour. 

I was  at  the  autumn  fair  some  years  ago  at  Liege  ; on 
the  boulevards  were  streets  of  booths,  some  for  the  sale  of 
cakes  and  toys,  others  shows  ; but,  as  among  the  stalls 
those  for  cakes  prevailed,  so  among  the  shows  did  the  Rig- 
olade  Parisienne  preponderate. 

Not  having  the  faintest  conception  of  what  the  Rigolade 
was,  I paid  my  sou  and  entered  one  in  quest  of  knowledge ; 


i68 


ARMINELL. 


and  this  is  what  I saw — a series  of  mirrors.  But  there  was 
this  peculiar  about  the  mirrors,  one  was  convex,  and  in  it  I 
beheld  my  nose  reduced  to  a pimple,  and  my  eyes  to  cur- 
rants ; another  was  concave,  in  which  my  nose  swelled  to  a 
proboscis  and  my  eyes  to  plums.  A third  mirror  multiplied 
my  face  fifty  times.  A fourth  showed  me  my  face  elong- 
ated, as  when  my  MS.  has  been  returned  “ not  suited,” 
from  an  editor ; a fifth  widened  my  face  to  an  absurd  grin  ; 
in  a sixth  I saw  my  pleasant  self  magnified  in  serene  and 
smiling  beauty  in  the  midst,  and  showed  me  every  surround- 
ing person  and  object,  the  faces  of  men,  the  houses,  the 
cathedral,  the  sky,  the  sun,  all  distorted  out  of  shape  and 
proportions.  “ Eh  9a,  M’sou,”  said  the  showman,  “ c’est  la 
veritable  Rigolade  Parisienne.” 

Eh  9a — my  dear  readers,  was  Giles  Inglett  Saltren’s 
vision  of  life.  He  saw  himself  infinitely  magnified  and 
everything  else  dwarfed  about  him  and  tortured  into  mon- 
strosity. 

Of  one  thing  I am  very  certain,  dear  reader,  in  this  great 
Rigolade  of  life  into  which  we  have  entered,  and  through 
which  we  are  walking,  there  are  some  who  are  always  seeing 
themselves  in  the  multiplying  mirror,  and  there  are  others 
who  contemplate  their  faces  continually  elongated,  whilst 
others  again  see  themselves  in  the  widening  mirror  and  ac- 
commodate themselves  to  be  the  perpetual  buffoon.  Let 
us  trust  that  these  are  not  many,  but  there  certainly  are 
some  who  view  themselves  enlarged,  and  view  everything 
and  every  person  beside,  the  world  about  them,  the  heaven 
above  them,  in  a state  of  distortion. 

Lord  Lamerton  had  shown  the  young  tutor  extraordinary 
kindness,  for  he  was  a man  with  a soft  heart,  and  he  really 
wished  to  make  the  young  fellow  happy.  He  would  have 
liked  Giles  to  have  opened  out  to  him  and  not  to  have 
maintained  a formal  distance,  but  he  was  unable  to  do  more 
than  invite  confidence,  and  he  attributed  the  stiffness  of 


ARMINELL. 


169 


the  tutor  to  his  shyness.  Of  late,  his  lordship  had  begun 
to  think  that  perhaps  Jingles  was  somewhat  morbid,  but 
this  he  attributed  to  his  constitutional  delicacy.  Con- 
sumptive people  are  fanta  tical,  was  his  hasty  generaliz- 
ation. 

In  the  heart  of  Giles  Inglett  Saltren  a very  mixed  feeling 
existed  as  he  walked  back  to  the  park.  He  was  gratified 
to  think  that  he  had  noble  blood  in  his  veins,  but  he  was 
incensed  at  the  thought  of  the  treachery  to  which  his 
mother  had  fallen  a victim,  and  which  robbed  him  of  his 
birthrights.  Had  that  function  in  the  drawing-room,  de- 
scribed by  his  mother,  been  celebrated  legally,  he  and  not 
the  snivelling  little  Giles  would  be  heir  to  Orleigh,  to  fifty 
thousand  a year,  and  a coronet, -and  a seat  in  the  House  of 
Lords.  What  use  would  Giles  the  Little  make  of  his 
privileges?  Would  he  not  lead  the  same  prosaic  life  as 
his  father,  planting  pines,  digging  fish-ponds,  keeping  a 
pack  of  hounds,  doing  the  active  work  of  a county  magnate 
and  magistrate? — whereas  he — Giles  Inglett  Saltren,  no 
longer  Saltren,  but  Baron  Lamerton  of  Orleigh,  might  be- 
come, with  the  advantages  of  his  birth,  wealth,  and  abilities 
combined,  the  greatest  statesman  and  reformer  England 
had  known.  He  felt  that  his  head  was  bursting  with  ideas, 
his  blood  on  fire  to  give  them  utterance,  and  his  hands 
tingling  to  carry  his  projects  into  effect.  Without  some  ad- 
ventitious help,  such  as  position  and  wealth  could  give,  he 
could  not  take  the  place  he  knew  by  inner  illumination 
should  be  his. 

“ I was  sure  of  it,”  said  Jingles,  “ that  is  to  say  I imagined 
that  I could  not  be  the  son  of  a common  mining  captain. 
There  was  something  superior  to  that  sort  of  stuff  in  me. 
But  now  this  infamous  act  of  treachery  stands  between  me 
and  acknowledgment  by  the  world,  between  me  and  such 
success  as,  perhaps  no  man  in  England,  except  perhaps  Mr. 
Gladstone,  has  attained  to.  All  I want  is  a lift  on  the 


ARMINELL. 


1 7° 

ladder — after  that  first  step  I will  mount  the  rest  of  the  way 
myself.” 

He  walked  on  fast.  His  blood  seethed  in  his  heart.  He 
was  angry  with  LordLamerton  for  having  betrayed  his  mother’s 
trust,  and  with  his  mother  for  allowing  herself  to  be  deceived. 

“ Something  may  yet  be  done.  It  is  not  impossible  that 
I may  discover  what  has  not  been  suspected.  I must  dis- 
cover this  friend  who  pretended  to  be  a parson,  and  search 
the  archiepiscopal  registers  for  the  alleged  licence.  It  is 
hardly  likely,  that  my  lord  would  dare  to  fabricate  a false 
licence,  or  for  a friend  of  his  to  run  the  risk,  out  of  friend- 
ship, of  twenty-five  years’  penal  servitude.  No — it  is,  calmly 
considered,  far  more  likely  that  a true  licence  was  obtained, 
that  the  marriage  though  secret,  was  valid,  and  that  my 
mother  was  imposed  upon,  when  assured  she  had  been 
duped,  and  then  she  was  forced  on  Captain  Saltren  to  dis- 
pose of  her  securely  against  discovering  her  rights  and  de- 
manding them.  I will  go  to  town  and  then  take  advice 
what  to  do.  It  will,  perhaps,  be  best  for  me  thence  to  write 
to  his  lordship  and  ask  for  the  particulars,  threatening  unless 
they  are  furnished  me  voluntarily,  that  I will  search  them 
out  for  myself.  If  I were  the  Honourable  Giles  Inglett,” 
mused  Jingles,  with  his  eyes  on  the  moonlit  road,  “how 
utterly  different  my  position  in  the  house  would  be  to  what 
it  now  is.  That  confounded  butler — who  assumes  a patron- 
ising air,  and  would,  if  I gave  him  encouragement,  pat  me 
on  the  shoulder.  That  impudent  valet,  who  brought  me 
up  the  wrong  waistcoat  yesterday  morning,  and  allowed  me 
to  ring  thrice  before  he  chose  to  answer  the  bell,  and  never 
apologised  for  having  kept  me  waiting.  Then,  again,  at 
table  the  other  day,  when  something  was  said  of  fish  out  o 
water,  the  fcotman  touched  my  back  with  the  dish  of  curried 
prawns.  He  did  it  intentionally,  he  meant  that  I was  a fish 
out  of  water,  a curried  prawn  myself,  in  fiery  heat.  There  was 
something  said  among  the  gentlemen  about  Gammon,  the 


ARMINELL. 


171 

man  who  has  just  been  created  High  Sheriff.  He  made  his 
money  in  mines.  One  of  those  present  said  that  those 
fellows  who  scramble  into  society  for  which  they  are  not 
qualified  always  reminded  him  of  French  poodles,  half- 
shaven  and  half-savage ; every  one  laughed  and  the  laugh 
cut  me  like  knives.  I am  sure  several  at  the  table  thought 
of  me,  and  that  they  have  taken  to  calling  me  ‘the  French 
poodle.’  What  am  I?  I am  either  his  lordship’s  legitimate 
but  unacknowledged  son — and  if  so  I am  shaved  all  over ; 
but  if  I am  as  he  would  pretend,  his  bastard — I am  half- 
shaved,  and  so  half-shaved  I must  run  about  the  world, 
laughed  at,  thought  monstrous,  pitied,  a creature  of  aristo- 
cratic and  plebeian  origin  commingled,  with  the  hair  about 
my  neck,  and  ears,  and  eyes,  and  nose,  but  all  the  rest  of 
me  polished  and  cultured.  A poodle  indeed!  I — a French 
poodle  ! ” 

A piece  of  decayed  branch  fallen  from  a tree  lay  in  the 
road.  Jingles  kicked  it  away. 

“ That,”  said  he  passionately,  “is  what  I should  like  to 
do  to  the  butler,  were  I the  Honourable  Giles.  And  that,” 
he  kicked  another  stick,  “ is  how  I would  treat  that  brute 
who  allowed  me  to  wait  for  my  waistcoat.  And  so,”  he 
trod  on  and  snapped  a twig  that  lay  athwart  his  path,  “ so 
would  I crush  the  footman  who  dared  to  nudge  me  with 
the  curried  prawns  ! And,”  he  caught  a hazel  bough  that 
hung  from  the  hedge,  and  broke  it  off,  and  ripped  the 
leaves  away,  and  then  with  his  teeth  pulled  the  rind  away, 
“and  this  is  what  I would  do  to  that  man  who  dared  to 
talk  of  half-shaved  French  poodles.  Oh  ! if  I could  be  but 
a despot — a dictator  for  an  hour — for  an  hour  only — to 
ram  the  curried  prawns  down  the  throat  of  that  insolent 
ruffian  who  nudged  me,  and  to  flay  alive  that  creature  who 
spoke  of  poodles  ! Then  I would  cheerfully  surrender  mv 
power  into  the  hands  of  the  people  and  be  the  demociatic 
leader  once  more.” 


172 


ARMINELL. 


He  entered  the  park  grounds  by  a side-gate  and  was 
soon  on  the  terrace.  There  he  saw  Arminell  returning  to 
the  house  from  her  stroll  in  the  avenue. 

“ Mr.  Saltren,"  she  said,  “ have  you  also  been  enjoying 
the  beauty  of  the  night  ? ” 

“ I have  been  trying  to  cool  the  fever  within/'  he  replied. 

“ I hope,”  she  said,  misunderstanding  him,  “ that  you 
have  not  caught  the  influenza,  or  whatever  it  is  from  Giles." 

“ I have  taken  nothing  from  Giles.  The  fever  I speak  of 
is  not  physical." 

“ Oh ! you  are  still  thinking  of  what  we  discussed  over 
the  Noah’s  Ark." 

“ Yes — how  can  I help  it  ? I who  am  broken  and 
trodden  on  at  every  moment." 

“ I am  sorry  to  hear  you  say  this,  Mr.  Saltren.  I also 
have  been  talking  the  matter  over  with  papa,  and  after  he 
went  in,  1 have  been  walking  up  and  down  under  the 
trees  meditating  on  it — but  I get  no  farther,  for  all  my 
thinking." 

“Miss  Inglett,"  said  Jingles,  “the  time  of  barley-mows  is 
at  an  end.  Hitherto  we  have  had  the  oats,  and  the  wheat, 
and  the  rye,  and  the  clover,  and  the  meadow-grass  ricked, 
stacked  separately.  All  that  is  of  the  past.  The  age  of 
the  stack-yard  is  over  with  its  several  distinct  classified 
ricks — this  is  wheat,  that  is  rye  ; this  is  clover,  that  damaged 
hay.  We  are  now  entering  an  age  of  Silo,  and  inevitably  as 
feudalism  is  done  away  with,  so  will  the  last  relics  of 
distinctions  be  swept  aside  also,  and  we  shall  all  enter  an 
universal  and  common  silo." 

“ I do  not  think  I quite  understand  you." 

“ Henceforth  all  mankind  will  make  one,  all  contribute 
to  the  common  good,  all  be  pressed  together  and  the  in- 
dividuality of  one  pass  to  become  the  property  of  all." 

Arminell  shook  her  head  and  laughed. 

“ I confess  that  I find  great  sweetness  in  the  old  stack- 


ARMINELL. 


173 


yard,  and  a special  fragrance  attaches  to  each  rick.  Is  all 
that  to  be  a thing  of  the  past,  and  the  savour  of  the  silo  to 
be  the  social  atmosphere  of  the  future  ? ” 

“You  strain  the  illustration,”  said  Saltren,  testily. 

“You  wish  to  substitute  an  aggregate  of  nastiness  for 
diversified  sweets.” 

“ Miss  Inglett,  I will  say  no  more.  I thought  you  more 
sympathetic  with  the  aspirations  of  the  despised  and  down- 
trodden, with  the  movement  of  ideas  in  the  present 
century.” 

“ I am  sympathetic,”  said  Arminell.  “ But  I am  as  be- 
wildered now  as  I was  this  morning.  I am  just  as  one  who 
has  been  spun  through  the  spiral  tunnel  on  the  St.  Gothard 
line,  when  one  rushes  forth  into  day  : you  know  neither  in 
which  direction  you  are  going,  nor  to  what  level  you  are 
brought.  I dislike  your  similitude  of  a silo,  and  so  have  a 
right  to  criticise  it.” 

“Arminell,”  said  Jingles  standing  still. 

“ Mr.  Saltren  ! ” The  girl  reared  herself  haughtily,  and 
spoke  with  icy  coldness. 

“ Exactly,”  laughed  the  tutor,  bitterly.  “ I thought  as 
much  ! You  will  not  allow  the  presumed  son  of  a man- 
ganese captain,  the  humble  tutor,  to  presume  an  approach 
of  familiarity  to  the  honourable  the  daughter  of  a peer.” 

“ I allow  no  one  to  presume,”  said  she,  haughtily,  and 
turned  her  back  on  him,  and  resumed  her  walk. 

“Yet  I have  a right,”  pursued  Jingles,  striding  after  her. 
“ Miss  Inglett — Arminell,  listen  to  me.  I am  not  the  man 
to  presume.  I know  and  am  made  to  feel  too  sharply  my 
inferiority  to  desire  to  take  a liberty.  But  I have  a right, 
and  I stand  on  my  right.  I have  a right  to  call  you  by  your 
Christian  name,  a right  which  you  will  acknowledge.  I 
am  your  brother.” 

Arminell  halted,  turned  and  looked  at  him  from  head  to 
foot  with  surprise  mingled  with  disdain. 


*74 


ARMINELL. 


“ You  doubt  my  words,”  he  went  on.  “ I am  not 
offended — I am  nut  surprised  at  that ; indeed,  I expected 
it.  But  what  I say  is  true.  We  have  different  mothers, 
mine” — with  bitterness — “ of  the  people,  that  I allow— of 
the  people,  of  the  common,  base  lot,  who  are  dirt  under 
your  feet  ; yours  *is  of  the  aristocracy,  made  much  of,  re- 
ceived in  society,  in  the  magic  circle  from  which  mine  would 
be  shut  out.  But  we  have  one  father ; I stand  to  you  in 
precisely  the  same  relation  as  does  the  boy  Giles,  but  I am 
your  elder  brother,  and  should  be  your  adviser  and  closest 
friend.” 


CHAPTER  XIX. 


LITTLE  JOHN  NOBODY. 

Giles  Inglett  Saltren  had  promised  his  mother  to  sa) 
nothing  10  any  one  of  what  had  been  told  him,  but  the 
temptation  had  come  strongly  upon  him  to  tell  Arminell 
that  he  was  not  the  nobody  she  and  others  supposed,  and 
he  had  succumbed  in  the  temptation.  He  and  the  girl  had 
interests  in  common,  sympathies  that  drew  them  together, 
and  he  felt  that  it  wopld  be  of  extraordinary  benefit  to  her, 
and  a pleasure  to  himself,  if,  in  that  great  house,  where  each 
was  so  solitary,  they  could  meet  without  the  barrier  which 
had  hitherto  divided  them  and  prevented  the  frank  inter- 
change of  ideas  and  the  communication  of  confidences. 
Later  on  in  the  evening,  it  is  true,  he  felt  some  twinges  ot 
conscience,  but  they  were  easily  stilled. 

Jingles  had  greatly  felt  his  loneliness.  He  had  been 
without  a friend,  without  even  a companion.  Plecoud  not 
associate  with  those  of  his  mother’s  class,  for  he  was  separ- 
ated from  them  by  his  education,  and  he  made  no  friends 
in  the  superior  class,  from  the  suspicion  with  whicn  he 
regarded  its  members.  He  had  made  acq  aintances  at 
college,  but  he  could  not  ask  them  to  stay  at  Chillacot  when 
he  was  at  the  Park,  nor  invite  them  as  guests  to  Orleigh  ; 
consequently,  these  acquaintanceships  died  natural  deaths. 
Nevertheless,  that  natural  craving  which  exists  in  all  hearts 
to  have  a familiar  friend,  a person  with  whom  to  associate 
and  open  the  soul,  was  strong  in  Jingles. 


176 


ARMINELL. 


If  the  reader  h^s  travelled  in  a foreign  country — let  us 
say  in  Bohemia — and  is  ignorant  of  the  tongue,  Czech,  he 
has  felt  the  irksomeness  of  a table  cThftte  at  which  he  has  sat, 
and  of  which  he  has  partaken,  without  being  able  to  join  in 
the  general  conversation.  He  has  felt  embarrassed,  has 
longed  for  the  dinner  to  be  over,  that  he  might  retire  to  his 
solitary  chamber.  Yet,  when  there,  he  wearies  over  his 
loneliness,  and  descends  to  the  coffee-room,  there  to  sip  his 
cafe  noir , and  smoke,  and  pare  his  nails,  and  turn  over  a 
Czech  newspaper,  make  up  his  accounts,  then  sip  again, 
again  turn  over  the  paper,  re-examine  his  nails,  and  recalcu- 
late his  expenditure,  in  weariful  iteration,  and  long  for  the 
time  when  he  can  call  for  his  bill  and  leave.  But,  if  some 
one  at  an  adjoining  table  says,  “ Ach  ! zu  Englitsch  ! ” how 
he  leaps  to  eager  dialogue,  how  he  takes  over  his  coffee-cup 
and  cognac  to  the  stranger's  table ; how  he  longs  to  hug  the 
barbarian,  who  professes  to  “speaqus  a littelle  Englitsch. n 
How  he  clings  to  him,  forgives  him  his  blunders,  opens  a 
thirsty  ear  to  his  jargon,  forces  on  him  champagne  and 
cigars,  forgets  the  clock,  his  nails,  his  notes,  the  bill  and  the 
train,  in  the  delight  of  having  met  one  with  whom  he  can 
for  a moment  forget  his  isolation. 

If  this  be  so  when  meeting  with  a foreigner,  how  much 
more  cordial  is  our  encounter  with  a pleasant  Englishman. 
We  at  once  seek  out  links  of  connection,  to  establish  the 
fact  of  our  having  mutual  acquaintances. 

So  did  the  impulse  come  on  Saltren  and  overpower  him. 
There  was  a community  of  ideas  between  him  and  Arminell; 
and  he  was  swept  away  by  his  desire  to  find  a companion, 
into  forgetfulness  of  the  promise  he  had  made  to  his  mother. 

That  he  was  doing  wrong  in  telling  the  girl  a secret, 
about  which  he  had  no  right  to  let  a hint  fall  without  her 
father’s  knowledge  and  consent,  could  hardly  be  hid  from 
his  cor  science,  but  he  refused  to  listen,  and  excused  himself 
on  grounds  satisfactory  to  his  vanity.  It  was  good  for  Armi- 


ARM1NELL. 


177 


nell  herself  to  know  the  relationship,  that  she  might  be  able 
to  lean  on  him  without  reserve.  Giles  Inglett  Saltren  had 
been  very  solitary  in  Orleigh.  He  had  not,  indeed,  been 
debarred  the  use  of  his  mother-tongue  ; but  he  had  been 
unable  to  give  utterance  to  his  thoughts;  and  of  what  profit 
is  the  gift  of  speech  to  a man,  if  he  may  not  speak  out  what 
is  on  his  mind?  The  young  are  possessed  with  eager  desire 
to  turn  themselves  inside  out,  and  to  show  every  one  their 
internal  organisation.  A polypus  has  the  same  peculiarity. 
It  becomes  weary  of  exposing  one  surface  to  the  tide,  and 
so  frankly  and  capriciously  inverts  itself,  so  that  what  was 
coat  of  stomach  becomes  external  tissue,  and  the  outer  skin 
accommodates  itself  to  the  exercise  of  digestive  func- 
tions. Young  people  do  the  same,  and  do  it  publicly,  in 
society,  in  a drawing-room,  in  unsympathetic  company.  As 
we  grow  older  we  acquire  reserve,  and  gradually  withdraw 
our  contents  within  ourselves,  and  never  dream  of  allowing 
any  other  surface  to  become  exposed  to  the  general  eye, 
but  that  furnished  us  by  nature  as  our  proper  external  en- 
velope. The  young  tutor  had  his  own  crude,  indigested 
notions,  a mind  in  ferment,  and  an  inflamed  and  irritable 
internal  tissue,  and  he  naturally  and  eagerly  embraced  the 
only  opportunity  he  had  of  inverting  himself. 

Then,  again,  a still  mightier  temptation  operated  on 
Jingles,  the  temptation  which  besets  every  man  to  assume 
the  role  of  somebody,  who  has  been  condemned  to  play  the 
part  of  nobody,  when  an  opening  is  given. 

There  is  a poem  in  Percy’s  Reliques,  that  represents  the 
grievances  of  the  common  Englishman  at  the  time  of  the 
Reformation,  who  dislikes  the  change  that  is  going  on 
about  him,  the  introduction  of  novelties,  the  greed  that 
masqueraded  under  the  name  of  religion  ; and  every  verse 
ends  with  the  burden,  “But  I am  little  John  Nobody,  and 
durst  not  speak.” 

Jingles  had  been  unable  to  express  his  opinion,  to  appear 

M 


178 


ARMINELL. 


to  have  any  opinion  at  all ; he  had  been  in  the  house,  at 
table,  everywhere,  a little  John  Nobody  who  durst  not 
speak.  Now  the  role  of  little  John  Nobody  is  a role  dis- 
tasteful to  every  one,  especially  to  one  who  has  a good 
opinion  of  himself.  Imagine  the  emotions  of  an  actor  who 
has  been  doomed  for  years  to  be  a walking  gentleman,  to 
whom  has  been  suddenly  offered  the  part  of  Hamlet. 
Would  he  not  embrace  the  chance  with  avidity  ? 

When  Arminell  approached  Jingles  with  a not  exactly, 
“ Me  speaque  a littelie  Englitsch  ! ” but  with  the  confession 
that  she  understood  his  mind,  and  was  asking  of  life  the 
same  questions  that  troubled  him,  then  he  warmed  to  her 
and  longed  for  a closer  intercourse.  When,  moreover, 
he  found  that  it  was  possible  for  him  to  establish  a tie  of  a 
close  and  binding  nature  between  them,  it  was  more  than 
his  moral  courage  could  resist  to  break  the  seal  of  silence 
and  tell  her  who  he  was. 

But  Jingles  had  entered  into  no  particulars,  and 
Arminell  could  not  rest  with  the  half-knowledge  she 
possessed.  She  could  not  ask  him  to  tell  her  more,  nor 
could  she  explain  the  circumstances.  She  could  not 
endure  to  be  kept  in  partial  ignorance,  and  immediately 
after  breakfast,  on  the  following  morning,  she  went  to 
Chillacot  to  see  Mrs.  Saltren. 

The  captain’s  wife  was  greatly  alarmed  when  she  heard 
what  was  wanted.  Arminell  spoke  coldly,  distantly, 
haughtily.  Mr.  Giles  Inglett  Saltren,  she  said,  had  let 
drop  some  words  that  implied  a relationship.  She  must 
know  whether  there  were  any  foundations  for  the  implica- 
tion. Mrs.  Saltren  trembled  and  made  excuses,  and 
attempted  evasions  ; but  Arminell  was  determined  to  know 
the  facts,  and  she  forced  the  woman  to  repeat  to  her  the 
story  she  had  told  on  the  previous  night. 

“But,  oh,  miss  ! I named  no  names;  and  Giles  never 
ought  to  have  breathed  a word  about  it.  I will  go  down 


ARMINELL.  1 79 

on  my  knees  to  you  to  be  g you  to  say  nothing  to  any  one 
about  this  matter.” 

“ Do  you  suppose  it  is  a subject  I am  likely  to  discuss — 
to  Mrs.  Cribbage,  for  instance?  That  I will  talk  freely  of 
an  affair  which  compromises  the  honour  of  my  father?” 

“ There  is  scarce  any  one  knows  about  it.” 

“ Except  my  father,  yourself,  and  your  son.” 

“ And  the  captain  ; but,  miss,  I beg  you  to  bear  witness 
that  I named  no  names.” 

I want  to  know  no  more,  none  of  the  details,”  said 
Arminell,  “ I only  trust  they  may  all  be  rolled  up  and  cast 
away  into  oblivion.” 

She  returned  to  the  Park,  went  into  the  music-room  and 
began  to  practise  on  the  piano.  She  was  able  to. do  the 
mechanical  work  and  think  at  the  same  time.  She  believed 
the  story  she  had  been  told,  not  so  much  because  Marianne 
Saltren  had  related  it,  as  because  Jingles  so  confidently  be- 
lieved it.  He  would  never  have  spoken  to  her  on  the 
matter  had  he  harboured  the  slightest  shadow  of  doubt. 

But  the  story  was  one"  on  which  her  mind  must  busy  it- 
self. She  began  unconsciously  to  play  Agatha’s  song 
“ Leise,  leise,”  from  “ Der  Freischiitz,”  and  as  she  played, 
two  tears  rolled  down  her  cheeks. 

She  had  always  regarded  her  father  with  respect  as  a 
man  of  principle  and  strict  notions  of  honour,  though  she 
did  not  consider  him  as  a man  of  ability.  Now  he  ap- 
peared to  her  in  a light  that  showed  him  guilty  of  conduct 
unworthy  of  a gentleman,  inexpressibly  base  and  cowardly. 
His  behaviour  towards  her  own  mother  had  been  bad,  for 
Arminell  was  satisfied  that  her  mother  would  never  have 
married  Lord  Lamerton  had  she  been  allowed  to  suspect 
that  his  character  was.  stained  with  such  an  ugly  blur. 

“ I am  glad  she  died,”  said  the  girl  with  a sob,  and  then 
with  a start  she  asked,  “ How  was  it  that  that  woman  was 
in  the  house  with  my  mother  ? How  could  she  bear  it  ? 


i8o 


ARMINELL. 


No  ; my  dearest  mother  knew  nothing,  had  no  suspicions, 
and  it  was  generous  of  Mrs.  Saltren  to  be  so  near,  and 
never  let  her  suspect  what  had  been  done  to  her.” 

She  shook  her  head  to  shake  out  the  conjectures  that 
distressed  her.  It  was  a pity  she  did  put  these  ques- 
tions from  her.  Had  she  looked  at  them  more  closely  she 
would  have  seen  the  incoherence  in  the  story  told  her  by 
Marianne.  Then  the  same  thought  occurred  to  her  which 
had  presented  itself  to  Jingles.  Was  it  not  possible  that 
the  marriage  with  the  servant-maid  had  been  a valid  one, 
but  that  advantage  had  been  taken  of  her  ignorance  to 
make  her  believe  it  was  not,  and  so  for  Lord  Lamerton  to 
shake  himself  free  from  an  encumbrance  which  had  be- 
come irksome  to  him?  But  if  this  were  the  case,  her  own 
mother’s  marriage  would  be  of  questionable  legality,  and 
with  it  would  go  her  own — Arminell’s — legitimacy.  A cold 
terror  came  over  the  girl  at  the  thought.  By  all  means 
Jingles  must  be  induced  to  desist  from  investigating  the 
matter  and  pressing  his  rights,  if  he  had  any.  What  a con 
dition  of  affairs  would  ensue  if  the  marriage  of  Marianne 
were  a real  one.  Why  the  present  Lady  Lamerton  would 
not  be  a proper  wife,  nor  little  Giles  legitimate  any  more 
than  herself. 

Arminell  was  young,  had  no  practical  knowledge  of  the 
world,  and  her  imagination  had  been  fed  by  novels,  not  of 
the  most  wholesome  quality.  Such  an  incident,  such  a 
hideous  entanglement  involving  so  many  was  quite  in  accor- 
dance with  romance,  and  the  young  are  always  expecting 
reality  to  take  romantic  lines,  as  the  old  are  always  mistrust- 
ing the  romantic  as  the  garb  of  falsehood. 

Arminell  leaned  her  elbow  on  the  music-stand,  and  her 
head  in  her  palm.  She  felt  faint  ana  ^.ek  at  the  thought 
that  had  risen  up  in  her. 

At  that  precise  moment  Giles  Inglett  Saltren  came  into 
the  room.  He  had  heard  the  sound  of  the  piano,  and  he 


ARMINELL. 


181 


knew  that  the  girl  spent  an  hour  every  morning  in  the  music* 
room  practising.  She  looked  up,  recovered  her  distracted 
thoughts,  and  resumed  her  mechanical  play  on  the 
keys. 

“Do  you  want  to  speak  to  me?”  she  asked,  as  he  took 
his  place  beside  the  grand  piano,  ready  to  turn  over  the 
leaves  of  her  exercises. 

“Yes;  what  are  you  playing?” 

“I  am  practising,  not  playing  anything  of  importance, 
anything  consecutive,  a reverie  ; but  one  must  hack  every 
day,  without  it  all  execution  goes  out  of  the  fingers.  It  is  a 
pity  that  hacking  with  the  tongue  so  many  hours  a day  does 
not  conduce  to  brilliancy  of  conversation.” 

“ I should  like  a few  words  with  you,”  said  the  tutor,  “ if 
you  can  spare  me  the  time.  I wish  to  express  my  regret  for 
having  spoken  last  night.  I ought  not  to  have  revealed  the 
secret  of  my  birth ; but  it  was  burning  in  my  heart,  and 
flamed  out  at  my  mouth.” 

Arminell  continued  playing  and  said  nothing. 

“ We  must  let  the  matter  drop,”  he  said  in  a low  tone. 
“ I will  not  presume  again,  if  you  will  endeavour  to  forget.” 

“ How  can  I forget  ? As  well  dash  vitriol  in  my  eyes, 
and  say  don’t  allow  them  to  smart.” 

He  saw  that  there  were  tears  on  her  face. 

“I  am  sincerely  sorry,”  he  said,  “lam  heartily  penitent. 
I see  I have  hurt  you.  My  words  were  vitriol,  and  your 
eyes  have  overflowed.” 

“ Doubly  do  you  hurt  me  now — in  noticing  what  should 
have  been  left  unobserved.  I am  crying  over  my  dead  re- 
spect for  my  father.  I loved  him  in  my  own  queer  and 
wayward  fashion,  though  there  was  little  we  had  in  common. 
I believed  him  to  be  upright  and  good,  and  now  my  faith  is 
gone  to  pieces.” 

“We  must  make  allowances,”  said  Jingles.  “This  hap- 
pened long  ago — I am  twenty-one — and  Lord  Lamerton 


182 


ARMINELL. 


was  at  the  time  young,  under  thirty.  In  token  of  his  regret 
he  has  done  much  for  me.” 

“ I have  been  accustomed, ” said  Arminell,  “to  look  up  to 
my  father,  and  I have  been  full  of  a certain  family  pride  — 
not  pride  in  rank  and  wealth  and  all  that  sort  of  thing,  but 
pride  in  the  honour  and  integrity  which  I believed  had  been 
ours  always  ; and  now  I find — ” she  sobbed ; she  could  not 
finish  her  sentence. 

“ I am  very  sorry.  I shall  ever  reproach  myself,”  was 
the  impotent  remark  of  Jingles,  but  he  did  feel  a sting  of 
self-reproach.  He  had  acted  cruelly  to  kill  a girl’s  trust  in 
her  father. 

“ It  cannot  be  helped,”  she  said,  “ it  is  done.  Well,  1 
know  all,  my  eyes  are  opened,  I accept  you  as  my  half-brother. 
When  my  father  married  again  he  sacrificed  half  his  father- 
hood in  me,  or  so  I felt  it ; and  now  of  that  half  that  re- 
mained something  has  been  taken  from  me.  Very  little  of 
my  dear  papa  remains  now — only  a shadow.” 

“ And  I,”  said  Jingles,  “ I am  even  in  a worse  plight  than 
you,  for  I cannot  love  a father  who  has  so  wronged  my 
mother.”  After  a long  pause,  during  which  he  held  and 
fluttered  a page  of  Arminell’s  music,  he  added,  “What  a for- 
lorn condition  mine  is.  I am  here  by  sufferance  who  ought 
to  be  here  by  right.  Every  one  dins  in  my  ears  the  great 
kindness  which  I have  had  shown  me  by  his  lordship,  and 
yet  I know  that  I am  not  receiving  more  than  a fraction  of 
the  portion  that  should  be  mine.  Her  ladyship  patronises 
me,  Giles  regards  me  as  a hired  tutor,  the  servants  are  barely 
civil,  the  guests  either  ignore  me  or  cast  gibes,  as — ” he 
checked  himself ; he  was  again  recurring  to  the  half-shaved 
French  poodle,  when  in  at  the  door,  or  French  window  that 
led  from  the  terrace,  came  Lord  Lamerton,  fresh  and 
cheery. 

“Saltren,”  he  said,  “you  here  ! I am  glad  of  that.  The 
man  I want ; do  me  a favour,  my  good  fellow,  and  be  the 


ARMINELL. 


183 


go-between  ’twixt  your  father  and  me.  Arminell,  have  you 
seen  Giles  this  morning?  He  is  better,  dear  rascal,  and 
quite  bright.  What,  doing  drill  on  the  keys?  Saltren,  I 
hope  you  will  do  your  utmost  endeavour  with  your  father 
about  his  house.  The  company  are  in  a quandary  about  it. 
We — I am  a director,  you  know — we  will  give  him  a tip-top 
price,  in  fact,  more  than  twice  its  value.  The  place  is  really 
not  a pleasant  one,  and  well  deserves  its  chilly  name.  Ton 
my  word,  I believe  it  was  the  cold  and  damp  situation  that 
sowed  in  you  the  seeds  of  pulmonary  disease.  I sent 
Macduff  down,  but  he  could  effect  nothing.  I believe,  on 
my  very  soul,  that  there  is  no  man  on  earth  but  yourself 
who  can  move  your  father.  He  is  a stubborn  man,  eh, 
Saltren?  I would  go  myself  and  see  him  about  it,  but 
Macduff  tells  me  your  father  is  ruffled  about  the  manganese. 
It  is  the  deuce  of  a pity,  but  I cannot  help  myself.  I wish 
he  could  be  persuaded  to  sell.  Why,  Saltren,  between  you, 
me,  and  the  piano,  I believe  if  I chose  to  dispute  your 
father’s  right  to  Chillacot  I could  beat  him.  Macduff  says 
that  there  has  been  some  sort  of  acknowledgment  made 
every  year,  there  was  no  lease  of  any  sort,  and  I am  the 
lord  of  the  manor — but  I won’t  do  that.  I won’t  be  harsh 
or  seem  so,  not  only  because  I have  the  utmost  respect  for 
the  captain,  such  a good  and  thoroughly  upright  man,  but 
above  all,  because  he  is  your  father,  my  boy.  However, 
my  dear  Saltren,  something  must  be  done,  we  are  in  a fix. 
The  company  will  be  put  to  the  greatest  possible  incon- 
venience and  much  expense  that  might  be  avoided,  if  it  has 
to  carry  the  line  below.  Your  father — ” 

“ Seven,”  muttered  Jingles. 

“ I beg  your  pardon  ? ” asked  my  lord,  raising  his  eye- 
brows. 

“Nothing,  my  lord,”  answered  the  young  man.  “I  had 
no  intention  to  interrupt.  I was  counting.” 

“Counting — oh,  whilst  my  daughter  played.  She  has 


ARMINELL. 


184 

given  over  strumming,  so  give  over  counting,  please.  You 
will  do  what  I ask,  will  you  not  ? 55 

“ I will  see  him,  my  lord,  as  it  is  your  pleasure.5' 

“Use  all  your  powers  of  persuasion.  Tell  him  that  I 
want  to  cut  a new  road,  to  find  employment  for  the  men ; 
and  if  the  station  be  at  Chillacot,  the  road  must  go  there, 
if  your  father — 55 

“Eight,55  whispered  Jingles  as  an  aside,  and  looked  at 
Arminell. 

“ If  your  father  is  reasonable,  we  will  begin  at  once. 
You  see  how  we  are  situated.  I can  understand  his  re- 
luctance to  quit  a house  where  he  was  born,  and  for  which 
he  has  done  so  much ; but  then,  consider  the  price  offered 
for  it.  This  offer  comes  in  most  fitly  now  that  the  mine  is 
abandoned.  Your  father — 55 

Again  the  tutor  looked  at  Arminell. 

“Your  father  must  leave,  as  there  is  no  work  for  him  of 
the  kind  he  is  accustomed  to,  and  a nice  little  capital  would 
be  very  serviceable.55 

“I  will  go,  my  lord,  at  once,55  said  Jingles. 

“Thank  you,  Saltren,  thank  you.  I have  to  be  off  to 
catch  the  11.28  train.55 

He  went  out  of  the  room  through  the  window  by  which 
he  had  entered. 

“Did  you  hear?55  asked  the  tutor,  partly  in  scorn,  partly 
in  pain.  “ Nine  times  at  the  least  did  he  speak  of  the 
manganese  captain  as  my  father,  although  he  knew  perfectly 
all  the  while  that  I am  not  his  son.  Did  you  notice  the 
pointed  way  in  which  he  spoke?  It  was  as  though  he 
suspected  that  I had  got  wind  of  the  truth,  and  would  em- 
phatically let  me  understand  that  he  would  never,  never 
acknowledge  it,  emphatically  bid  me  consider  the  mining 
captain  as  my  father.  But 55 — his  face  darkened  with  anger 
— “ I am  by  no  means  assured  that  we  know  the  whole 
truth.55 


ARMINELL.  1 85 

Arminell  shuddered.  Jingles  looked  intently  at  her,  and 
saw  that  she  divined  his  thoughts. 

“No,”  said  he  calmly:  “never  fear  that  I will  have  the 
story  published  to  the  world.  It  would  bring  disgiace  on 
too  many  persons.  It  would  make  my  mother's  position 
now  as  the  wife  of  Captain  Saltren  an  equivocal  one.  To 
disclose  the  truth,  whatever  complexion  the  truth  might  be 
found  to  wear  when  examined,  would  cause  incalculable 
misery.  What  I shall  do,  whither  I shall  turn,  I cannot 
yet  tell.” 

Arminell  also  had  noticed  the  manner  in  which  Lord 
Lamerton  had  spoken  of  the  captain  to  the  tutor  as  his 
father,  and  she  also,  with  her  preconceptions,  thought  it  was 
pointedly  so  done. 

“ No,”  said  Jingles.  “I  shall  have  to  leave  this  house, 
and  I shall  let  his  lordship  know  that  I am  not  as  blind  as 
he  would  wish  me  to  be.  But  what  I shall  do  is  as  yet 
undetermined.  I shall  ask  you  to  help  me  to  come  to  a 
decision.” 


CHAPTER  XX. 


HE  BECOMES  SOMEBODY. 

Arminfell  kept  to  herself  that  day.  At  lunch  she  had  not 
much  to  say  to  her  step-mother,  and  Lord  Lamerton  was 
out.  Giles  came  down,  and  his  mother  talked  to  him  and 
to  the  tutor,  and  seemed  not  to  observe  Arminell’s  silence. 

The  girl  was  unhappy.  She  had  given  way  to  a momen- 
tary weakness,  or  wave  of  regret  at  the  thought  of  her 
father’s  unworthiness,  but  the  feeling  predominating  in  her 
mind  was  indignation  that  her  mother  should  have  been  left 
unacquainted  with  the  previous  conduct  of  my  lord.  She 
repeated  to  herself,  “ Most  certainly  she  never  knew  it,  or 
she  would  never  have  married  him,  even  if  she  knew  that 
ceremony  was  worthless  that  had  been  performed  over  him 
and  Marianne. ” 

Arminell  had  idealised  her  mother.  The  girl  had  an 
affectionate  heart,  but  she  concentrated  her  affection  on  the 
memory  of  her  mother.  Ever  since  her  father’s  re-marriage 
there  had  brooded  over  her  a sense  of  wrong  done  to  the 
memory  of  the  mother.  How  could  my  lord,  after  having 
loved  such  a woman,  take  to  himself  his  present  wife  ? 

Arminell  was  by  no  means  easy  in  mind  about  Jingles’ 
assurance  that  he  would  not  speak.  He  had  given  the 
same  assurance,  as  Mrs.  Saltren  had  told  her,  to  his  mother, 
and  had  broken  his  promise.  She  resolved  to  exert  her 


ARMINELL.  187 

powers  of  persuasion  on  him  to  deepen  this  determinant  n 
to  be  silent. 

It  was  unfortunate  that  Lord  Lamerton  had  not  been 
able  to  cultivate  more  freely  his  daughter's  society,  but  a 
nobleman  l as  ten  thousand  calls  on  his  time;  he  is  pre- 
vented from  living  that  close  life  of  familiar  association  wi  h 
his  children  which  is  the  privilege  of  those  in  an  inferior 
station.  He  considered,  and  he  was  right  in  considering, 
that  his  country,  his  order,  and  his  county  had  claims  on 
him  which  must  not  be  put  aside.  He  was  a poor  orator 
indeed,  and  rarely  spoke  in  the  House,  but  he  conscienti- 
ously voted  with  his  party.  In  town  he  and  Lady  Lamerton 
saw  a good  deal  of  society,  not  because  they  cared  particu- 
larly for  it,  but  because  they  considered  it  a duty  to  enter- 
tain and  keep  up  relations  with  friends  and  connexions.  In 
the  country  Lord  Lamerton,  as  Arminell  contemptuously 
said,  was  kept  on  the  gallop  between  school  prize-givings, 
petty  sessional  meetings,  quarter  sessions,  political  and 
charitable  institutions.  He  sat  on  boards,  occupied  chairs 
wherever  there  were  boards  and  chairs  placed  for  him. 
Moreover,  at  Orleigh,  after  the  London  season,  the  house 
was  full  of  acquaintances,  who  came  to  shoot,  hunt,  drive, 
and  be  amused;  and,  with  a house  lull  of  guests,  Lord 
Lamerton  had  not  opportunity  for  cultivating  the  society  of 
his  daughter.  But  he  was  a man  full  of  kindness,  and  he 
made  many  attempts  to  gain  her  affection,  and  persuade  her 
to  be  to  him  the  close  companion  that  a daughter  often  is 
to  a father.  These  attempts  had  failed,  chiefly  because  of 
the  resentment  she  bore  him  for  having  married  again. 
Had  he  remained  a widower,  and  sought  to  associate  her 
with  him  in  his  pursuits,  it  might  have  been  otherwise;  but, 
as  he  had  looked  elsewhere  for  a companion,  she  closed  her 
heart  in  reserve  against  him. 

Lord  Lamerton  was  fond  of  hunting,  and  in  this  Arminell 
did  not  accord  with  him.  Her  Girton  governess  had 


i88 


ARMINELL. 


scoffed  at  those  who  had  nothing  better  to  do  or  think  of 
than  the  pursuit,  over  hedge  and  gate,  of  a creature  hardly 
bigger  than  a cat ; and  the  sneer  had  taken  effect  on  the 
girl,  and  made  her  regard  her  father,  because  of  his  hunting, 
as  somewhat  grotesque  and  deficient  in  moral  dignity.  She 
could  not  accompany  him  when  shooting,  but  she  was  out 
of  sympathy  with  sport  of  this  kind  also.  Her  governess 
had  spoken  of  those  lords  of  creation  who  concentrated 
their  vast  intellects  on  the  killing  of  a jacksnipe,  and  this 
remark  stuck  in  her,  as  did  the  other  about  fox-hunting. 
She  regarded  sportsmen  as  fools,  more  or  less.  I once  knew 
a man  who  had  a mole  with  three  white  hairs  growing  out  of 
it,  on  his  nose;  and.  when  I talked  with  him,  one  hemisphere 
of  my^.brain  was  engaged  in  considering  the  mole,  and 
asking  how  it  came  there — whether  it  had  grown  as  he 
grew,  or  whether  it  had  been  of  the  same  size  when  he  was 
born,  and  whether  his  body  had  expanded  and  elongated 
about  it ; why  he  did  not  disguise  it  with  chalk  or  violet 
powder,  or  else  darken  the  three  white  hairs  with  antimony  j 
whether  he  had  consulted  a surgeon  concerning  its  removal, 
and,  if  so,  why  the  surgeon  had  not  removed  it  ? Was  it 
the  cork  plugging  an  artery,  so  that  the  man  would  bleed 
to  death  were  it  to  be  cut  away  ? Why  he,  of  all  men,  was 
afff  icted  with  this  mole — was  it  hereditary  ? And  if  so,  on 
which  side  did  it  come  to  him,  on  the  paternal  or  maternal  ? 
And  if  it  were  a hereditary  mole,  whether  it  would  be 
possible,  by  judicious  crossing,  to  reduce  and  finally  extir- 
pate it  ? Then  again,  whether  after  long  disappearance,  in 
say  three  generations,  the  mole  would  declare  itself  in  the 
fourth?  what  the  mole  had  to  do  with  the  doctrine  of 
evolution  ? whether  the  Anthropological  Society  had  con- 
sidered this  mole  ? and  other  questions.  Afterwards  I did 
not  know  whether  this  man  had  blonde  hair  or  swarthy, 
eyes  brown  or  blue,  an  intellectual  forehead  or  one  retreat- 
ing, nose  acquiline,  retrousse , or  sausage.  Neither  could  I 


ARMINELL. 


1% 

recall  anything  about  his  conversation — I could  think  of 
him  only  as  the  Man  with  the  Mole,  or,  to  be  more  exact, 
the  Mole  with  the  man. 

Now,  it  sometimes  happens  that  we  see  a blemish  in  a 
man’s  character,  and  that  blemish  entirely  engrosses  our 
attention,  so  that  we  cannot  conceive  of  the  man  other  than 
as  the  man  with  the  blemish.  He  may  have  good,  counter- 
balancing qualities,  but  of  these  we  know  nothing,  we  take 
no  account,  we  see  only  the  moral  mole. 

Moreover,  this  habit  of  seeing  moles,  and  marking  nothing 
but  moles  grows  on  us.  I quite  remember  how  that  for  a 
twelvemonth  after  I had  talked  with  my  gentleman  with 
the  mole,  I examined  the  nose  of  every  one  I met,  explor- 
ing it  for  moles,  and  expecting  to  find  them  hid  under 
disguises,  powdered  or  patched  over  ; or  to  discover  traces 
of  the  amputation  of  moles,  suspicious,  tell-tale  scars,  or 
else  tokens  that  latent  moles  were  on  the  eve  of  eruption, 
moles  that  had  been  hidden  deep  in  the  system  which  were 
unsuspected  by  nearest  and  dearest,  gradually,  stealthily, 
inexorably  working  into  publicity  ; and  I began  to  calculate 
how  long  it  would  be  before  the  suspected  mole  came  to 
light.  And  I became  radically  convinced  that  all  men  had 
moles  in  their  constitution — that  is,  all  men  but  myself — 
and  that  all  men  therefore  were  to  be  mistrusted,  and  held 
at  arms’  length,  lest  their  moles  should  communicate  them- 
selves to  us,  after  the  manner  of  warts. 

Arminell  had  not  indeed  reached  this  stage,  but  she  was 
in  that  condition  in  which  she  saw  the  faults  of  her  father 
and  step-mother,  and  the  faults  only.  Unable  to  forgive 
him  his  second  marriage,  she  was  predisposed  to  judge 
unfairly  and  harshly  all  he  did,  and  all  he  left  undone. 

That  one  special  reason  for  his  re-marriage  was  his  desire 
to  provide  her  with  a step-mother,  one  who  could  guide 
and  advise  her,  and  counteract  some  of  the  mischief  done 
by  injudicious  governesses,  never  for  a moment  occurred  to 


190 


ARMINELL. 


he:-,  and  yet  this  had  been  the  predominant  motive  in  the 
mind  of  Lord  Lamerton  when  he  chose  Lady  Julia  Chester- 
ton, She  was  a woman  spoken  of  as  clever  and  well-read, 
and  kind-hearted.  Clever,  well-read,  and  kind-hearted,  he 
had  found  her,  and  yet  deficient  in  the  very  quality  necessary 
for  commanding  Arminell’s  respect,  and  that  was  decision. 
Lady  Julia,  whatever  Arminell  might  think,  was  an  able 
woman,  but  her  promiscuous  reading  had  sapped  the  founda- 
tions of  all  independence  of  mind  that  she  ever  possessed,  and 
had  acted  on  her  brain,  as  acids  on  osseous  matter — reducing 
it  to  jelly.  She  was  ever  building  with  head,  and  hands, 
and  heart,  an  indefatigable  builder,  but  always  on  no  foun- 
dations at  all,  because  she  argued  that  solid  rock  was  no 
where  discoverable,  and  sand  was  liable  to  shift,  therefore 
she  would  erect  her  structures  in  the  air,  on  nothing. 

Lord  Lamerton  had  been  disappointed  at  the  result,  but 
had  no  idea  as  to  the  cause  of  failure.  And  now,  upon  a 
mind  in  antagonism,  this  disclosure  made  by  Mrs.  Saltren 
came,  and  brought  Arminell’s  antagonism  to  a climax. 

The  tears  which  young  Saltren  had  surprised  were  the  sole 
tribute  of  her  filial  affection.  When  they  were  dried  only 
hostility  remained. 

Some  while  ago,  Messrs.  Pears  published  an  advertise* 
ment  of  their  soap,  on  which  were  a green  spot  and  another 
red,  and  the  curious  were  invited  to  study  one  spot  at  a 
time,  and  then  look  at  a blank  wall.  When  this  was  done, 
he  who  had  contemplated  the  red  spot,  saw  a green  disc 
dance  before  his  eyes  ; but  if,  on  the  other  hand,  he  had 
looked  long  on  the  green  spot,  he  saw  before  him  only  a red 
ball.  It  is  so  wit!)  a good  many  people  ; and  it  was  so  with 
Arminell.  Whenever  Lord  or  Lady  Lamerton  wished  her 
to  see  this  or  that,  to  take  such  a view  of  some  particular 
matter,  she  invariably  saw  the  complementary  colour,  that  is 
the  reverse  of  what  she  was  desired  to  see. 

I,  who  write  this,  am  ashamed  to  confess  that  I do  the 


ARMINELL. 


191 

same,  and  I am  not  sure  that,  occasionally,  you,  my  dear 
reader,  may  also  do  the  same — now  and  then,  of  course  : 
only  when  the  wind  is  easterly,  and  the  liver  is  out  of  order, 
or  the  next  morning  after  a ball.  I know  that  when  I have 
read  the  Saturday  Review , I rise  from  the  perusal  believing 
in  Mr.  Gladstone,  and  ready  to  follow  him  to  the  bottom  of 
the  Red  Sea,  or  wherever  else  he  desires  to  lead  us  ; and 
that  when  I have  read  the  Pall-Mall  Gazette , I am  eager  to 
drive  my  wife  and  daughters  into  the  Primrose  League. 
Also,  I am  quite  sure  that  when  some  person  has  been 
warmly  lauded  in  your  hearing,  dear  reader,  you  take  a low 
view  of  that  individual,  and  when  another  has  been  much 
disparaged,  you  take  up  the  cudgels  to  defend  him,  though 
he  or  she  is  an  absolute  stranger  to  you,  and  one  of  whom 
you  have  never  heard  before.  I never  recommend  a water- 
ing-place to  my  friend,  sure,  if  he  goes  there,  he  will  call  it 
a beastly  hole,  or  dissuade  him  from  buying  a horse,  by  de- 
tailing its  faults,  so  certain  am  I that  my  words  will  make 
him  purchase  the  brute. 

In  the  afternoon  of  the  same  day,  as  the  sun  was  warm, 
and  the  air  was  soft,  Saltren  took  little  Giles  upon  the  ter- 
race, and  Armine.ll,  who  saw  them  from  her  window, 
descended,  and  joined  them  there.  She  was  uneasy  and 
impatient  to  know  what  the  tutor  intended  doing.  Would 
he  come  to  a full  understanding  with  Lord  Lamerton,  and 
would  my  lord  agree  to  provide  for  him,  if  he  would  depart 
and  keep  the  secret  of  his  birth  undisclosed  ? Or  would 
Jingles  in  London  discover  sufficient  to  make  him  suspect 
that  his  mother’s  marriage  was  valid,  and  be  carried  away 
by  ambition  to  establish  his  legitimacy  at  all  costs  to 
others  ? 

At  the  same  moment  that  Arminell  came  out  on  the  ter- 
race, the  rector’s  wife,  Mrs.  Cribbage,  drove  up  in  her 
wickerwork  pony-carriage,  and  entered  the  house  to  pay  a 
visit  to  Lady  Lamerton. 


192 


ARM  I NELL. 


Giles  ran  off  to  see  his  rabbits,  and  Jingles  was  left  alone 
walking  with  Arminell. 

“ I suppose  you  are  not  burdening  Giles  with  many 
lessons,  now  that  he  is  convalescent  ? ” said  the  girl. 

“ No,  her  ladyship  does  not  wish  him  to  be  pressed.  He 
is  still  heavy  in  his  head  with  cold.” 

“ Well,”  said  Arminell,  “ I did  not  come  here  to  talk 
about  Giles,  so  we  will  dismiss  him  from  our  conversation. 
I have  been  considering  this  miserable  matter,  and  I want 
to  know  what  action  you  purpose  taking  on  it.” 

“ I also,”  said  the  tutor,  c<  have  been  revolving  the  matter 
in  my  head,  and  I have  resolved  to  leave  Orleigh  as  soon  as 
possible,  and  to  ask  my  uncle,  Mr.  James  Welsh,  my  mother’s 
brother,  to  assist  me  to  enter  a literary  career.” 

“ Literary  career  ! in  what  branch  ?” 

“ I intend  to  write  for  the  press,  I mean  for  the  papers. 
Mr.  Welsh  lives  hy  his  profession,  and  I will  do  the  same.” 
“That  must  be  more  interesting  than  teaching  little  boys 
Mensa — mensae,  Dominus — domini.” 

“ The  press  is  the  sceptre  that  now  rules  the  world,  and  I 
will  wield  it.” 

“ Oh,  how  I envy  you  ! ” said  Arminell.  “ You  are  about 
to  do  something,  something  worth  the  labour,  something  the 
thought  of  which  kindles  ambition.  You  will  escape  out  of 
this  wearisome  round  of  hum-drum  into  the  world  of  heroic 
action.  Here  is  my  lord  spending  his  life  in  petty  duties  as 
he  regards  them,  and  has  no  result  at  the  end  to  show ; my 
lady  thinking,  planning,  executing,  and  also  with  no  result 
appearing  ; and  I,  wasting  my  time  practising  at  the  piano, 
running  my  voice  over  scales,  doing  a little  sketching,  read- 
ng  odds  and  ends,  picking  flowers — and  nothing  can  come 
of  it  all.  We  are  made  for  more  serious  work.” 

“I  believe,”  said  Jingles,  “that  the  writer  of  leaders  ex- 
ercises more  power,  because  he  appeals  to  a wider  circle, 
than  even  the  member  of  Parliament.  One  out  of  every 


ARMINELL. 


193 


twenty  who  takes  up  a paper,  reads  the  speeches,  but  every 
one  rea<Js  the  leading  articles.  I believe  that  we  stand  at 
the  beginning  of  a great  social  revolution,  not  in  England 
only,  but  throughout  the  civilized  world,  and  I have  long 
desired  to  take  part  in  it,  I mean  in  directing  it.  I do  not 
hold  the  extreme  opinions  of  some,  but  I have  my  opinions, 
no,  that  is  not  the  word,  convictions,  bred  in  me  by  my 
perception  of  the  inequalities,  injustices,  and  unrealities  of 
life  as  it  is  now  organised.” 

“ And  you  will  work  for  your  uncle  ? ” 

“ I do  not  altogether  hold  with  him,”  said  Jingles.  “ He 
takes  too  commercial  an  aspect  of  the  mission  imposed  on 
a man  with  his  power  and  faculties  reaching  the  ear  of  the 
people.” 

“ Do  you  intend  to  live  with  him  ? ” 

“ I cannot  tell.  I have  decided  on  nothing  as  to  the 
particulars.  I have  sketched  out  the  broad  features  of  my 
future  career.” 

“ And,” — Armineirs  voice  faltered — “ my  father  ? ” 

“ I will  write  to  him  after  I am  in  town,  informing  him 
that  I know  all,  and  that,  therefore,  it  was  not  possible  for 
me,  with  self-respect,  to  remain  in  his  house.” 

Arminell  looked  down  on  the  gravel. 

“ You  will  not  go  into  this  matter,  not  have  my  mother’s 
name  brought  in  question  ? ” 

" I will  do  nothing  that  can  cause  you  a moment’s  pain,” 
answered  Jingles  patronisingly. 

“ I shall  be  very  solitary,”  she  said.  “ More  so  than  be- 
fore. With  you  I can  talk  about  matters  of  real  interest, 
matters  above  the  twaddle  of  common  talk — Yes  ? ” 

This  was  addressed  to  the  footman  who  appeared  on  the 
terrace  and  approached. 

“ What  is  it,  Matthews  ? ” 

“ My  lady  says,  miss,  that  she  will  be  glad  if  you  could 
make  it  convenient  to  step  into  the  parlour.” 

N 


194 


ARMINELL. 


“There,”  said  Arminell,  when  Matthews  had  withdrawn, 
“ so  she  stands  between  me  and  the  light  at  all  times.  I 
shall  be  back  directly.  She  wants  me  about  the  choice  of 
some  new  patterns  for  covering  the  sofas  and  chairs,  I dare 
say.  Here  comes  Giles  from  his  rabbits.” 

Arminell  walked  slowly  to  the  drawing-room,  with  a frown 
of  vexation  on  her  brow.  She  never  responded  with  alacrity 
to  her  step-mother’s  calls. 

Mrs.  Cribbage,  the  rector’s  wife,  saw  at  once  that  Ar- 
minell was  in  a bad  humour,  as  she  entered  the  room. 

“ I am  sorry  to  interrupt  you,”  she  said.  “ It  was  my  do- 
ing. Lady  Lamerton  and  I were  speaking  about  old 
Samuel  Ceely,  and  I have  just  heard  how  you  have  inter- 
ested yourself  about  him.” 

“ I sent  to  ask  you  to  come,  dear,”  said  Lady  Lamerton 
in  her  sweet,  gentle  tones,  “ because  Mrs.  Cribbage  has 
b^en  telling  me  about  the  man.  He  is  unobjectionable 
now,  but  he  was  a bit  of  a rake  once.” 

“ He  was  a gamekeeper  to  the  late  Lord*  Lamerton,  and 
to  the  dowrager,”  put  in  Mrs.  Crilbage,  “ and  was  dismissed. 
I could  find  out  all  the  particulars.  I believe  he  sold  the 
game,  and  besides,  was  esteemed  not  to  have  the  best 
moral  character.  However,  I know  no  particulars.  I will 
now  make  a duty  of  enquiring,  and  finding  them  out.  Of 
late  years — except  for  snaring  rabbits  and  laying  night-lines 
— I believe  he  has  been  inoffensive.” 

“ We  are  all  miserable  sinners,”  said  Arminell,  “ we  were 
told  so  on  Sunday ” 

“ You  were  not  at  church  on  Sunday,”  interrupted  Mrs. 
Cribbage. 

“ And,”  continued  Arminell,  “ it  is  really  satisfactory  to 
know  that  poor  Ceely  is  not  an  exception  to  that  all- 
embracing  rule,  and  that  he  has  not  the  moral  perfection 
which  would  make  up  for  his  physical  short-comings.” 

Arminell  could  not  endure  the  rector’s  wife,  and  took  no 


ARMINELL.  1 95 

pains  to  disguise  her  feelings.  Lady  Lamerton  likewise 
disliked  her,  but  was  too  sweet  and  ladylike  to  show  it. 

Mrs.  Cribbage  was  an  indefatigable  parish  visitor.  She 
worked  the  parish  with  the  most  conscientious  ardour,  con- 
sidering a week  lost  unless  she  had  visited  every  house  in 
it  and  had  dispensed  a few  pious  scriptural  remarks,  and 
picked  up  a pinch  of  gossip  in  each.  She  knew  everything 
about  every  one  in  the  place,  and  retailed  what  she  knew, 
especially  if  it  were  too  unpleasant  to  retain.  She  did  not 
give  out  much  scandal  in  the  cottages,  but  she  pecked  here 
and  there  after  grains  of  information,  and  swallowed  what 
she  found.  And  the  people,  well  aware  of  her  liking,  with 
that  courtesy  and  readiness  to  oblige  which  characterises 
the  English  lower  orders,  brought  out  and  strewed  before 
her  all  the  nasty,  and  ill-natured,  and  suspicious  scraps  of 
information  they  had  hoarded  in  their  houses.  Mrs.  Crib- 
bage carried  away  whatever  she  learned,  and  communicated 
it  to  her  acquaintances  in  a circle  superior  to  that  where 
she  gathered  it,  to  the  Macduffs,  to  the  wives  of  the  neigh- 
bouring parsons,  to  the  curate,  with  caution  to  Lady 
Lamerton.  She  acted  as  a turbine  wheel  that  forces  water 
up  from  a low  level  to  houses  on  a height.  She  thus  im- 
pelled a current  of  tittle-tattle  from  the  deep  places  of 
society  to  those  who  lived  above  ; but  in  this  particular 
she  differed  from  the  turbine,  that  forces  up  clean  water, 
whereas,  what  Mrs.  Cribbage  pumped  up  was  usually  the 
reverse. 

Mrs.  Cribbage  was  nettled  by  Arminell’s  uncourteous 
tone,  and  said:  “ What  darning  weather  we  have  been 
having.  I hope,  Miss  Inglett,  that  you  enjoyed  your  Sun- 
day morning  walk  ? ” 

“ It  was  as  delightful  as  the  weather,”  answered  Arminell, 
well  aware  that  there  were  claws  in  the  velvet  paw  that 
stroked  her.  “ Would  you  wish  to  know  where  I went  ? ” 

“ O,  my  dear  Miss  Inglett ! I know.” 


196 


ARMINELL. 


Then  Mrs.  Cribbage  left,  and  when  she  was  gone,  Lady 
Lamerton  said  gently,  “ You  were  too  curt  with  that  woman, 
dear.  You  should  never  forget  your  manners,  never  be 
rude  to  a visitor  in  your  own  house. ” 

“ I am  not  an  adept  at  concealment,  as  are  others.” 

“The  best  screen  against  such  a person  is  politeness.” 
“She  is  like  a snail,  with  eyes  that  she  stretches  forth  to 
all  parts  of  the  parish.  I hate  her.” 

“Arminell,  your  father  has  been  putting  prickly  wire 
about  on  fences  where  cattle  or  pigs  force  their  way.  The 
beasts  scratch  themselves  against  the  spikes,  and  after  one 
or  two  experiences,  learn  to  keep  within  bounds,  and  lose 
the  desire  to  transgress.  The  Mrs.  Cribbages — and  there 
are  yards  of  them — are  the  spiky  wires  of  society,  hedging 
us  about,  and  keeping  us  in  our  proper  places,  odious  in' 
themselves,  but  useful,  and  a protection  to  us  against 
ourselves.” 

“ Barbed  or  unbarbed,  I would  break  through  them.” 

“ No,  my  dear,  you  would  only  tear  yourself  to  pieces 
on  them,  without  hurting  them  ; they  are  galvanised,  plated, 
incapable  of  feeling,  but  they  can  inflict,  and  it  is  their 
mission  to  inflict  an  incredible  amount  of  pain.  You  have 
already  committed  an  indiscretion,  and  the  crooked  spike 
of  the  Cribbage  tongue  has  caught  you.  Instead  of  going 
to  church  on  Sunday  morning,  you  walked  in  the  road 
with  Mr.  Saltren.  Of  course,  this  was  an  act  of  mere 
thoughtlessness,  but  so  is  the  first  plunge  of  the  calf  against 
the  prickly  wire.  Be  more  judicious,  dear  Armie,  in  the 
future.  Where  were  you  on  Sunday  afternoon  ? ” 

“ Sitting  with  Giles  and  Mr.  Saltren,”  said  Arminell, 
furious  with  anger  and  resentment,  “ talking  Sabbath  talk. 
We  discussed  Noah’s  ark.” 

“ And  this  morning  he  went  into  the  music-room  to 
you.  Your  father  told  me  he  found  him  there  turning  over 
the  leaves  of  your  music,  and  counting  time  for  you ; and 


ARMINELL. 


I97 


now  Mrs.  Cribbage  arrives  and  sees  you  walking  with  him 
on  the  terrace.  My  dear  Armie,  Jingles  is  a nobody,  and 
these  nobodies  are  just  those  whom  it  is  unsafe  to  trifle 
with.  They  so  speedily  lose  their  balance,  and  presume. ” 

“ Mr.  Saltren  is  not  such  a nobody  as  you  suppose,” 
answered  Arminell.  “ He  is  a man  of  ability  and  inde- 
pendence of  thought,  he  is  one  who  will  before  long  prove 
himself  to  be  a somebody,  indeed.” 

“My  dear,  he  is  a somebody  already  who  has  established 
himself  as  a nuisance.” 


CHAPTER  XXI. 


DECLARATION  OF  INDEPENDENCE. 

So.  now,  even  this  was  denied  Arminell,  to  talk  with  a 
rational  man,  the  only  rational  man  in  the  house,  about  the 
subjects  that  interested  her.  She  must  keep  Mrs.  Cribbage 
before  her  eyes,  ever  walk  in  daily  fear  of  Mrs.  Cribbage  ; 
consider,  before  she  did  anything  she  liked,  what  would 
Mrs.  Cribbage’s  construction  on  it  be.  The  opinion  of 
Mrs.  Cribbage  was  to  be  what  she  must  strive  to  conciliate. 
All  principle  must  be  subordinated  to  the  judgment  of  Mrs. 
Cribbage,  all  independence  sacrificed  to  her. 

It  is  one  of  those  pleasant  delusions  under  which  we 
live  in  England,  that  \Ve  have  only  God  and  the  Queen  to 
look  up  to  and  obey.  As  a matter  of  fact  Mrs.  Cribbage  is 
absolute  in  heaven  and  earth,  and  the  Divine  law  has  no 
force,  unless  subscribed  by  Mrs.  Cribbage.  We  fear  God, 
because  Mrs.  Cribbage  is  His  vicegerent,  and  has  the  triple 
crown  and  power  of*the  keys,  and  in  addition  bears  the 
sword.  Resistance  is  powerless  before  the  all-reaching 
power  of  Mrs.  Cribbage.  The  Holy  Vehm  was  nothing  in 
its  might  to  the  judgment  of  Mrs.  Cribbage.  Her  ministers 
are  everywhere  executing  her  orders,  and  none  of  the  con- 
demned dare  to  remonstrate,  or  attempt  escape.  We  may 
utter  with  impunity  treasonable  words  against  the  Queen, 
and  profess  agnosticism  towards  God,  but  no  one  disputes 


ARMINELL.  1 99 

the  existence  of  Mrs.  Cribbage  and  would  not  lick  the  dust 
under  her  feet. 

No  one  loves  this  autocrat,  but  there  is  not  a Nihilist  in 
her  realm. 

Lady  Lamerton  had  likened  her  to  American  barbed 
wire,  and  those  who  have  dealings  with  Mrs.  Cribbage 
touch  her  as  I have  seen  porters  handle  a roll  of  spiked 
wire  deposited  on  the  railway  platform,  with  caution,  and 
impatience  to  consign  it  to  its  proper  destination.  And 
yet,  though  every  one  dreads,  and  some  positively  loathe 
Mrs.  Cribbage,  yet  all  agree  that  it  would  not  be  possible  to 
Jive  without  her.  She  keeps  society  together  as  a paper- 
weight compacts  all  kinds  of  scraps  of  correspondence,  and 
bills  and  notices. 

As  long  as  young  girls  are  in  the  nursery,  and  subject  to 
governesses,  they  look  forward  to  their  coming  out  as  to  a 
time  of  emancipation.  They  have  not  reckoned  on  Mrs. 
Cribbage,  who,  as  with  a whoop  they  burst  out  of  the 
school-room,  confronts  them  and  blocks  their  road. 

Arminell.  had  done  with  her  schooling,  and  properly 
ought  to  have  come  out  that  year,  but  the  event  had  been 
postponed,  as  Lord  Lamerton  did  not  wish  to  go  to  town 
that  year.  She  was  free  from  governesses,  and  by  no 
means  inclined  to  lay  her  neck  under  the  wheels  of  Mrs. 
Cribbage’s  car.  When  my  lord  and  my  lady  had  gone  to 
town?  during  the  season,  Arminell  and  Gi;es  had  not 
attended  them.  Giles  was  better  in  health  in  the  country, 
with  his  pony,  and  his  cricket,  that  is,  with  the  tutor  bow- 
ling to  him,  and  the  coachman’s  son  acting  as  long-stop ; 
accordingly,  he  was  left  at  Orleigh  to  his  great  delight,  and 
Arminell  was  left  as  well,  with  the  governess,  to  continue 
her  lessons,  till  she  put  off  governesses  and  other  childish 
things.  Arminell  had  not  therefore  been  brought  much  in 
contact  with  the  world,  and  did  not  know  the  force  of 
public  opinion,  she  no  more  considered  it  than  she  con- 


200 


ARMINELL. 


sidered  the  pressure  of  the  atmosphere.  According  to  our 
best  authorities,  vve  are  subjected  to  the  weight  of  fifteen 
pounds  to  each  square -inch  of  surface,  and  a man  of 
ordinary  size  sustains  a pressure  on  him  of  some  thirty- 
thousand  pounds  of  air.  I am  a man  of  ordinary  size,  but 
I no  more  knew  that  I laboured  under  the  burden  of  thirty- 
thousand  pounds  than  I did  that  I was  subjected  to  the 
pressure  of  about  the  same  burden  of  Mrs.  Cribbage  who 
sits  on  my  shoulders  all  day  and  squats  on  my  chest  all 
night,  till  I turned  up  the  matter  in  an  encyclopaedia.  We 
no  more  think  about  the  pressure  of  public  opinion,  I say, 
than  we  do  about  the  pressure  of  the  atmosphere.  We 
make  allowance  for  it,  in  all  we  undertake. 

If  we  ascend  great  heights  we  suffer  because  we  are  no 
longer  subjected  to  the  pressure ; our  noses  bleed,  our 
breath  comes  short ; and  if,  by  any  chance,  we  get  out  of 
the  region  where  public  opinion  weighs,  we  become  alarmed, 
uneasy,  gasp,  and  cry  out  to  be  brought  back  under  its  in- 
cubus once  more. 

When  Arminell  had  left  the  room,  and  closed  the  door 
behind  her,  she  stood  for  a minute,  resting  the  fingers  of  her 
left  hand  on  the  lock. 

Should  she  obey  her  step-mother  or  defy  her  ? She  had 
promised  young  Saltren  to  return  to  the  terrace.  She 
wanted  to  have  further  talk  with  him.  Why  should  she 
submit  to  the  dictation  of  Lady  Lamerton  who  was?  in- 
fluenced by  the  hints  of  that  detestable  Mrs.  Cribbage?  If 
Lady  Larnerton  were  allowed  her  own  way  in  small  matters, 
she  would  presume  to  dictate  in  those  which  were  large,  and 
Arminell  would  be  allowed  no  will  of  her  own.  In  her 
heart,  the  girl  admitted  that  her  step-mother  had  reason  to 
reproach  her.  If  Jingles  were  only  the  tutor,  and  the  son 
of  the  mining  captain,  he  was,  as  my  lady  said,  a nobody, 
and  it  was  unbecoming  for  her  to  frequent  his  society.  In- 
deed, it  was  hardly  decorous  for  her  to  be  so  much  with 


ARMINELL. 


20  I 


him,  were  he  any  thing  else  but  what  she  knew  him  to  be, 
her  brother.  The  possession  of  the  knowledge  of  their 
relationship  altered  the  aspect  of  her  conduct  radically,  and 
justified  it.  Lady  Lamerton,  in  her  ignorance,  interfered, 
and  might  be  excused  interfering,  but  she,  Arminell,  being 
better  informed,  was  at  liberty  to  act  differently  from  what 
my  lady  advised.  The  young  man  was  her  brother,  and  what 
more  delightful  intercourse  than  that  which  subsists  between 
brother  and  sister,  when  like-minded  ? There  had  taken 
place  no  open  rupture  between  her  ladyship  and  Arminell 
as  yet : but  it  was  inevitable  that  one  would  come,  and  that 
shortly  : perhaps,  the  girl  argued,  the  sooner  the  better,  that 
her  step-mother  might  be  made  clearly  to  understand  that 
she — Arminell — stood  on  her  independence. 

The  girl  let  go  the  handle  of  the  drawing-room  door,  and 
with  beating  heart  and  heaving  bosom,  went  deliberately 
out  on  the  terrace  and  resumed  her  place  at  the  side  of 
Jingles. 

“I  have  come/’  she  said,  “as  I undertook.  My  lady  has 
read  me  a lecture.” 

“ About  what  ? ” 

“ About  barbed  wire,  about  Mrs.  Cribbage.  That  crea- 
ture saw  me  walking  with  you,  and  remonstrated  with 
mamma,  I mean  my  step-mother,  and  my  lady  retailed  the 
remonstrance,  as  in  duty  bound  ; I am  forsooth  to  be  placed 
under  Mrs.  Cribbage,  to  have  my  feet  strapped,  compressed 
and  distorted,  like  those  of  a Chinese  lady,  till  I am  unable 
to  walk  alone,  and  must  lean  on  the  shoulders  of  the  Crib- 
bage and  my  lady.  This  sort  of  thing  is  intolerable  to  me. 
Oh,  that  I were  a man,  that  I might  run  away,  as  you  are 
going  to  do,  and  stamp,  and  stride,  and  dance,  and  use 
every  muscle  in  my  feet  freely.  I detest  this  strapping  and 
pinching  and  crippling.” 

“I  have  felt  the  same,”  said  the  young  man.  “And  it 
has  become  unendurable  to  me.  One  must  either  submit 


202 


ARMINELL. 


or  break  away.  The  process  must  end  in  irremediable  dis- 
tortion, and  fatal  deprivation  of  the  power  of  walking  inde- 
pendently. Your  whole  future,  your  character  for  good  or 
evil,  depends  on  your  conduct  now.  If  you  fall  back  in 
your  chair  unable  to  resist — ” 

“No,  I will  kick  and  kick,  I will  not  be  disabled  from 
walking.” 

“ If  you  make  a brief  attempt  to  resist,  and  do  not  main- 
tain a stubborn  and  determined  resistance,  you  will  be 
cramped  and  crippled  for  life.  As  you  put  it,  the  whole 
social  system  of  the  upper  classes  is  Chinese  bandaging  of 
the  feet ; not  only  so,  but  it  is  Indian  flattening  of  the  skull. 
I have  felt,  and  so  have  you,  that  in  this  house  our  heads 
are  strapped  between  boards  to  give  them  the  requisite 
shape,  and  our  brains  to  be  not  allowed  to  excede  the 
requisite  measure.” 

“ What  can  I do  ? I have  no  one  but  yourself  to  ad- 
vise me.” 

“It  will  be  impossible  for  you  to  escape  the  influences 
brought  to  bear  on  you,  if  you  remain  here ; the  Cribbages, 
great  and  small,  will  lie  in  wait  till  you  are  napping  and  then 
fall  on  you  and  bind  you,  and  apply  the  laces  to  your  feet, 
and  the  boards  to  your  head.” 

“ But,  whither  could  I go  ? ” Arminell  asked.  She 
thought  for  a moment,  and  then  said,  “ If  I went  to  my  Aunt 
Hermione,  it  would  be  going  from  beneath  the  shower 
under  the  shoot.  There  never  was  a more  formal,  society- 
laced  creature  in  the  whole  world  than  my  aunt,  Lady 
Hermione  Flathead.  Everything  in  her  house,  her  talk,  her 
manners,  her  mind,  her  piety,  everything  about  her  is  con- 
ventional.” 

Lady  Lamerton  approached,  with  little  spots  of  colour  in 
her  cheeks,  holding  a parasol. 

“ My  dear  Arminell,”  she  said,  “ how  can  you  be  so  in- 
considerate as  to  come  out  without  a sunshade  ? ” 


ARMINELL. 


203 


“ You  see,”  said  Arminell,  turning  contemptuously  away 
and  addressing  the  tutor ; “everything  is  to  order.  I may 
not  even  take  two  steps  without  a parasol,  in  fine  weather ; 
and  in  bad,  without  an  umbrella.  The  hand  must  never  be 
free.” 

“ I think,  Mr.  Saltren,”  said  Lady  Lamerton,  “ that  it 
would  be  well  if  Giles  went  indoors,  and,  now  that  he  is 
better,  learn  a little  Latin.” 

“ As  your  ladyship  desires  it,  certainly,”  answered  the 
tutor. 

“ I am  so  glad,  my  dear,”  said  Lady  Lamerton,  “ that  you 
have  waited  for  me  on  the  terrace.  I am  sorry  to  have 
detained  you  one  minute,  but  I was  looking  out  the  address 
of  those  Straceys.  I will  take  yflur  arm  and  we  will  look 
at  the  pansies.” 

“Step-mothers,  the  Germans  call  them,”  said  Arminell. 
“I  do  not  admire  pansies.” 

“ We  call  them  pansies,  from  pens'ee , dear,  which  means; 
thought,  kind  thought,  and  fore-thought,  which  possibly, 
though  not  always  acknowledged,  is  to  be  found  in  step- 
mothers.” 

Arminell  tossed  her  head. 

“ The  homely  name  for  these  same  flowers,”  continued 
Lady  Lamerton,  “ is  hearts-ease,  and  Y m sure  it  is  a mis- 
nomer, if  hearts-ease  be  the  equivalent  for  step-mother, 
especially  when  she  has  to  do  with  a wayward  step-daughter.” 

“ I think  that  step-mothers  would  find  most  hearts-ease, 
if  they  would  turn  their  activity  away  from  their  step- 
daughters, and  leave  them  alone.” 

“My  conscience  will  not  suffer  me  to  do  this,”  answered 
Lady  Lamerton  without  losing  her  temper.  “ You  may  not 
acknowledge  my  authority,  and  you  may  hold  cheap  my  in- 
tellectual powers  and  acquirements,  but,  after  all,  Armie,  I 
am  in  authority,  and  I do  not  think  I am  quite  a fool.  I 
can,  and  I must,  warn  you  against  dashing  yourself  against 


204 


ARMINELL. 


the  barbed  wire.  My  dear,  if  we  would  listen  to  others,  we 
would  save  ourselves  many  a tear  and  bitter  experience.  I 
love  you  too  well,  and  your  dear  father  too  well,  to  leave 
you  uncautioned  when  I see  you  doing  what  is  foolish  and 
dangerous.” 

“But  do  you  not  know  that  experience  is  the  one  thing 
that  must  be  bought,  and  cannot  be  accepted  as  a gift  ? ” 

“ I beg  your  pardon.  Our  whole  system  of  social  culture  is 
built  upon  experience  accepted  and  not  bought.  It  is  not  the 
Catholics  alone  who  hold  by  tradition,  we  all  do  it,  or  are 
barbarians.  Progress  without  it  is  impracticable.  We  start 
from  the  accumulated  experience  of  the  past,  handed  on  to 
us  by  the  traditions  of  our  fathers.  If  everyone  began  by 
rejecting  the  acquisitions  of  the  past,  advance  would  be 
limited  to  the  term  of  man’s  natural  life,  for  everyone  would 
begin  from  the  beginning  ; whereas,  each  generation  now 
starts  where  the  last  generation  left  off.  It  is  like  the  hill  of 
Hissarlik  where  there  are  cities  superposed  the  one  on  the 
other,  and  each  is  an  advance  culturally  and  artistically 
on  that  below — above  the  Greek  Ilium,  below  the  Homeric 
Troy,  under  that  the  primeval  hovel  of  the  flint-chipper.” 

“Each  on  the  ruins  of  the  other.” 

“ Each  using  up  the  material  of  the  other,  following  the 
acquisitions  of  the  earlier  builders  and  pushing  further  on 
to  structural  perfection.” 

“ That  may  be  true  of  material  process,”  said  Arminell, 
“ but,  morally,  it  is  not  true.  Besides,  our  forefathers  made 
blunders.  I have  been  speaking  with  Mr.  Saltren  about  the 
Flatheads  and  the  Chinese  who  compress  the  heads  and 
double  up  the  feet  of  children.  But  our  ancestors  were 
nearly  as  stupid.  Look  at  the  monument  ot  the  first  Lord 
Lamerton  in  the  church.  See  the  swaddled  babies  repre- 
sented on  it,  cross-gartered  like  Malvolio.  Now  we  give 
freedom  to  our  babies,  let  them  stretch,  and  scramble,  and 
sprawl.  But  you  old  ladies  still  treat  us  young  girls  as  your 


ARMINELL. 


205 


great-grandmothers  treated  their  babies.  You  swaddle  us, 
and  keep  us  swaddled  all  our  life  long.  No  wonder  we 
resent  it.  The  babies  got  emancipated,  and  so  will  we.  I 
have  heard  both  papa  and  you  say  that  when  you  were 
children  you  were  not  allowed  to  draw  nearer  the  fire  than 
the  margin  of  the  rug.  Was  there  sense  in  that  ? Was  the 
fire  lighted  to  radiate  its  heat  over  an  area  circumscribed  by 
the  mat,  and  that  the  little  prim  mortals  with  blue  noses 
and  frosty  fingers  must  shiver  beyond  the  range  of  its  warmth? 
We  do  not  see  it.  We  will  step  across  the  rug,  and  if  we 
are  cold,  step  inside  the  fender.” 

“ And  set  fire  to  your  skirts  ? ” 

“ We  will  go  for  warmth  where  it  is  to  be  found,  and  not 
keep  aloof  from  it  because  of  the  vain  traditions  of  the 
elders.  ” 

Lady  Lamerton  sighed. 

“Well,  dear,”  she  said,  “we  will  not  argue  the  matter. 
To  shift  the  subject,  I hardly  think  it  was  showing  much 
good  feeling  in  you  to  come  straight  out  here  after  I had 
expressed  my  wish  that  you  would  not.  It  was  not  what  I 
may  term — pretty.” 

“ I had  promised  Mr.  Saltren  to  return  to  him  and  resume 
the  thread  of  our  interrupted  conversation.  Why  did  you 
send  for  me  about  old  Ceely’s  past  history,  as  if  I cared  a 
straw  for  that  ? ” 

“I  sent  for  you,  Armie,  because  you  were  walking  with 
the  tutor,  and  Mrs.  Cribbage  had  observed  it.  She  told 
me,  also,  that  you  had  been  seen  with  him  when  you  ought 
to  have  been  at  church.” 

“ Well  ? ” 

“ It  was  injudicious.  She  also  said  that  you  had  been 
observed  walking  in  the  avenue  last  night  with  a gentleman; 
but  I was  able  to  assure  her  that  the  gentleman  was  your 
father.” 

“This  espionage  is  insufferable,”  interrupted  Arminell. 


20  6 


ARMINELL. 


“ I allow  it  is  unpleasant,  but  we  must  be  careful  to  give 
no  occasion  for  ill-natured  remark. ” 

“ I can  not.  I will  not  be  swaddled  and  have  my  feet 
crippled,  and  my  head  compressed,  and  then  like  a Chinese 
lady  ask  to  be  helped  about  by  you  and  Mrs.  Cribbage.” 

“ Better  that  than  by  any  one  you  may  pick  up.” 

“ I do  not  ask  to  be  helped  about  by  any  one  I may  pick 
up.  Besides,  Mr.  Saltren  was  not  picked  up  by  me,  but  by 
my  father.  He  introduced  him  to  the  house,  gave  him  to 
be  the  guide  and  companion  of  Giles,  and  therefore  I cannot 
see  why  I may  not  cultivate  his  acquaintance,  and,  if  I see 
fit,  lean  on  him.  I will  not  be  swaddled,  and  passed  about 
from  arm  to  arm — baby  eternal  1 ” 


CHAPTER  XXII. 


TOO  LATE 

Lady  Lamerton  said  no  more  to  Arminell,  but  waited  till 
the  return  of  his  lordship,  before  dinner,  and  spoke  to  him 
on  the  matter. 

She  was  aware  that  any  further  exertion  of  authority  would 
lead  to  no  good.  She  was  a kind  woman  who  laboured  to 
be  on  excellent  terms  with  everybody,  and  who  had  discip- 
lined herself  to  the  perpetual  bearing  of  olive  branches. 
She  had  done  her  utmost  to  gain  Arminell’s  goodwill,  but 
had  gone  the  wrong  way  to  work.  She  had  made  conces- 
sion after  concession,  and  this  made  her  step-daughter  regard 
her  as  wanting  in  spirit,  and  the  grey  foliage  of  Lady 
Lamerton’s  olive  boughs  had  become  weariful  in  the  eyes  of 
the  girl. 

If  my  lady  had  taken  a firm  course  from  the  first,  and  had 
held  consistently  to  it,  Arminell  might  have  disliked  her, 
but  would  not  have  despised  her.  It  does  not  succeed  to 
buy  off  barbarians.  Moreover,  Arminell  misconstrued  her 
step-mother’s  motives.  She  thought  that  my  lady’s  peace 
pledges  were  sham,  that  she  endeavoured  to  beguile  her  into 
confidence,  in  order  that  she  might  establish  a despotic 
authority  over  her. 

“ I do  not  know  what  to  do  with  Armie  ! ” sighed  Lady 
lamerton.  “We  have  had  a passage  of  arms  to-day,  and 


208 


ARMINELL. 


she  has  shaken  her  glove  in  my  face.  Another  word  from 
me,  and  she  would  have  thrown  it  at  my  feet.” 

She  said  no  more,  as  she  was  afraid  of  saying  too  much, 
and  she  waited  for  her  husband  to  speak.  But,  as  he  offered 
no  remark,  but  looked  annoyed,  she  continued,  “ I am  sorry 
to  speak  to  you.  I know  that  I am  in  fault.  I ought  to 
have  won  her  heart,  and  with  it  her  cheerful  respect,  but  I 
have  not.  It  is  now  too  late  for  me  to  alter  my  conduct. 
Arminell  was  a girl  of  sense  when  I came  here,  and  it  really 
seems  disgraceful  that  at  my  age  I should  have  been  unable 
to  win  the  child,  or  master  her.  But  I have  failed,  and  I 
acknowledge  the  failure  frankly,  without  knowing  what  to 
suggest  as  a remedy  to  the  mischief  done.  I accept  all  the 
blame  you  may  be  inclined  to  lay  on  me — ” 

Lord  Lamerton  went  up  to  his  wife,  took  her  face  between 
his  hands,  and  kissed  her. 

“ Little  woman,  I lay  no  blame  on  you.” 

“ Well,  dear,  then  I do  on  myself.  I told  you  last  night 
how  I accounted  for  it.  One  can  look  back  and  see  one's 
faults,  but  looking  forward  one  is  still  in  ignorance  what 
road  to  pursue.  It  really  seems  to  me,  Lamerton,  that  on 
life’s  way  all  the  direction  posts  are  painted  so  as  to  show  us 
where  we  have  diverged  from  the  right  way  and  not  whither 
we  are  to  go.” 

“Julia,  I exercise  as  little  control  over  Armie  as  yourself. 
It  is  a painful  confession  for  a father  to  make,  that  he  has 
not  won  the  respect  of  his  child — of  his  daughter,  I mean  : 
as  for  Giles — dear  monkey — ” his  voice  softened  and  had  a 
slight  shake  in  it. 

“ And  I am  sure,”  said  Lady  Lamerton,  putting  her  arms 
round  his  neck,  and  drawing  his  fresh  red  cheek  to  her  lips, 
“ that  there  is  nothing,  nothing  whatever  in  you  to  make  her 
lack  the  proper  regard.” 

“ I will  tell  you  what  it  is,”  said  Lord  Lamerton,  “ Armie  is 
young,  and  believes  in  heroes.  We  are  both  of  us  too  ordi- 


ARMINELL. 


209 


nary  in  our  ways,  in  our  ideas,  in  our  submission  to  the 
social  laws,  in  our  arm-in-arm  plod  along  the  road  of  duty, 
to  satisfy  her.  She  wants  some  one  with  great  ideas  to  guide 
her ; with  high-flown  sentiment ; to  such  an  one  alone  will 
she  look  up.  She  is  young,  this  will  wear  off,  and  she  will 
sober  down,  and  come  to  regard  hum-drum  life  with 
respect.” 

“ In  the  meantime  much  folly  may  be  perpetrated,”  said 
Lady  Lamerton  sadly.  “ Do  look  how  much  has  been 
spent  in  the  restoration  of  Orleigh.  You  have  undone  all 
that  your  grandfather  had  done.  He  overlaid  the  stone  with 
stucco,  and  knocked  out  the  mullions  of  the  windows  for  the 
insertion  of  sashes,  and  painted  over  drab  all  the  oak  that 
was  not  cut  away.  So  are  we  in  later  years  restoring  the 
mistakes  made  in  ourselves,  perhaps  by  our  parents  in  our 
bringing  up,  but  certainly,  also,  by  our  own  folly  and  bad 
taste  in  youth.  And  well  for  us  if  there  is  still  solid  stone  to 
be  cleared  of  plaster,  and  rich  old  oak  to  be  cleared  of  the 
paint  that  obscures  it.  What  I dread  is  lest  the  iconoclastic 
spirit  should  be  so  strong  in  the  girl  that  she  may  hack  and 
tear  down  in  her  violent  passion  for  change  what  can  never 
be  recovered  and  re-erected.” 

“ She  is  not  without  principle.” 

“ She  mistakes  her  caprices  for  principles.  Her  own  will 
is  the  ruling  motive  of  all  her  actions,  she  has  no  external 
canon  to  which  she  regulates  her  actions  and  submits  her  will.” 

“ What  caprice  has  she  got  now  ? ” 

“ She  has  taken  a violent  fancy  to  the  society  of  young 
Saltren.” 

“ Oh  ! he  is  harmless.” 

“ I am  not  so  certain  of  that.  He  is  morbid  and 
discontented.” 

“Discontented  ! About  what?  Faith — he  must  be  hard" 
to  please  then.  Everything  has  been  done  for  him  that 
could  be  done.” 


O 


210 


ARMINELL. 


“ Possibly  for  that  reason  he  is  discontented.  Some  men 
like  to  make  their  own  fortunes,  not  to  have  them  made  for 
them.  You  have,  in  my  opinion,  done  too  much  for  the 
young  fellow.  ” 

“He  was  consumptive  and  would  certainly  have  died, 
had  I not  sent  him  abroad.” 

“ Yes — but  after  that  ? ” 

“Then  he  was  unfit  lor  manual  labour,  and  he  was  an 
intelligent  lad,  refined,  and  delicate  still.  So  I had  him 
educated.” 

“ Are  you  sure  he  is  grateful  for  what  you  have  done  for 
him  ? ” 

Lord  Lamerton  shrugged  his  shoulders.  “ I never  gave 
a thought  to  that.  I suppose  so.” 

“ I am  not  sure  that  he  is.  Look  at  children,  they  accept 
as  their  due  everything  given  them,  all  care  shown  them,  and 
pay  no  regard  to  the  sacrifices  made  for  them.  There  is 
no  conscious  gratitude  in  children.  I should  not  be  sur- 
prised if  it  were  the  same  with  young  Saltren.  I do  not 
altogether  trust  him.  There  is  a something  in  him  I do 
not  like.  He  does  his  duty  by  Giles.  He  is  respectful  to 
you  and  me — and  yet — I have  no  confidence  in  him.” 
“Julia,”  said  Lord  Lamerton  with  a 1 ugh,  “ I know  what 
it  is,  you  mistrust  him  because  he  is  not  a gentleman  by  birth. * 
“Not  at  all,”  answered  his  wife,  warmly.  “Though  I 
grant  that  there  is  a better  guarantee  for  a man  of  birth 
conducting  himself  properly  in  a place  of  trust,  because  he 
has  deposited  such  stakes.  Even  if  he  have  not  principle 
in  himself,  he  will  not  act  as  if  he  had  none,  for  fear  of 
losing  caste.  Whereas  one  with  no  connections  about  him 
to  hold  him  in  check  will  only  act  aright  if  he  have  prin- 
ciple. But  we  have  gone  from  our  topic,  which  was,  not 
Jingles,  but  Arminell.  I want  to  speak  about  her,  and 
about  him  only  so  far  as  he  influences  her  for  good  or  bad. 

1 will  tell  you  my  cause  of  uneasiness.” 


ARMINELL. 


21  I 


Then  she  related  to  her  husband  what  she  knew  about 
the  Sunday  walk  in  the  morning,  and  the  Sunday  talk  in 
the  afternoon,  and  the  music-room  meeting  on  the  follow- 
ing morning. 

“ Oh  ! ” said  his  lordship,  “ he  only  went  there  to  turn 
over  the  pages  of  her  music.” 

“ You  see  nothing  in  that  ? ” 

“ Ton  my  soul,  no.” 

“Then  I must  tell  you  about  her  conduct  this  afternoon, 
when  she  disobeyed  me  in  a marked,  and — I am  sorry  to 
use  the  expression — offensive  manner.” 

“ That  I will  not  tolerate.  I can  not  suffer  her  to  be 
insolent  to  you.” 

“ For  pity’s  sake  do  not  interfere.  You  will  make  matters 
worse.  She  will  hate  me  for  having  informed  you  of  what 
occurred.  No — take  some  other  course.” 

“ What  course  ? ” 

“ Will  it  not  be  well  to  get  rid  of  Saltren  ? And  till  he 
has  departed,  let  Arminell  go  to  Lady  Hermione  Wood- 
head.” 

Within  parenthesis  be  it  said  that  Woodhead  was  Aunt 
Hermione’s  real  name,  only  in  scorn,  and  to  signify  her 
contraction  of  mind  had  Arminell  called  her  Flathead,  after 
the  tribe  of  Indians  which  affects  the  compression  of  infants’ 
skulls. 

“ I cannot  dismiss  him  at  a moment’s  notice,  like  a 
servant  who  has  misconducted  himself.  I’ll  be  bound  it  is 
not  his  fault — it  is  Armie’s.” 

“ Let  Arminell  go  to  her  aunt’s  at  once.” 

“ By  all  means.  I’ll  have  a talk  with  Saltren.” 

“ Not  a word  about  Arminell  to  him.” 

“ Of  course  not,  Julia.  Now,  my  dear,  it  is  time  for  me 
to  dress  for  dinner.” 

Dinner  passed  with  restraint  on  all  sides.  Lord  Lamer- 
ton  was  uncomfortable  because  he  felt  he  must  speak  to 


4N£|$ 


212 


ARMINELL. 


Arminell,  and  must  give  his  conge  to  the  tutor.  Arminell 
was  in  an  irritable  frame  of  mind,  suspecting  that  something 
was  brewing,  and  Lady  Lamerton  was  uneasy  because  she  saw 
that  her  husband  was  disturbed  in  his  usually  placid  manner. 

After  dinner,  Lord  Lamerton  said  to  his  daughter  as  she 
was  leaving  the  room,  “ Armie,  dear,  are  you  going  into  the 
^avenue?  If  so,  I shall  be  glad  of  your  company,  as  I in- 
itend  to  go  there  with  a cigar  presently.” 

“If  you  wish  it,  papa  ; but — Mrs.  Cribbage  heard  that 
you  and  I had  been  walking  there  last  night,  and  it  meets 
with  her  disapproval.  May  James  first  run  to  the  rectory 
with  our  compliments  and  ask  Mrs.  Cribbage’s  kind  per- 
mission ? ” 

She  looked,  as  she  spoke,  at  her  step-mother,  and  there 
was  defiance  in  her  eye. 

“ Nonsense,  dear,”  said  her  father.  “ I shall  be  out  there 
in  ten  minutes.  Will  you  have  a whitewash,  Saltren,  and 
then  I will  leave  for  my  cigar  ? You  are  not  much  of  a 
wine-drinker,  I am  glad,  however,  you  are  not  a teetotaller 
like  your  father.” 

Again  a reference  to  the  captain.  Jingles  looked  to- 
wards the  door,  and  caught  ArminelFs  eye  as  she  went 
through.  She  also  had  heard  the  reference,  and  under- 
stood it,  as  did  the  tutor.  Certainly  his  lordship  was  very 
determined  to  have  the  past  buried,  and  to  refuse  all 
paternity  in  the  young  fellow. 

“ Very  well,”  said  the  girl  to  herself,  “ I will  let  my 
father  understand  that  I know  more  than  he  supposes.  He 
has  no  right  to  shelve  his  responsibilities.  If  a man  has 
done  wrong,  let  him  be  manful,  and  bear  the  consequences. 
I would  do  so.  I would  be  ashamed  not  to  do  so.” 

She  set  her  teeth,  and  her  step  was  firm.  She  threw  a 
light  shawl  over  her  head  and  shoulders  and  went  into  the 
avenue,  where  she  paced  with  a rebellious,  beating  heart  a 
few  minutes  alone,  till  her  father  joined  her. 


ARMINELL. 


213 


“ I know,  papa,  what  you  want ; or  rather  what  you  have 
been  driven  to.  My  lady  has  been  peaching  of  me,  and 
has  constituted  you  her  executioner.” 

“ Arminell,  I dislike  this  tone.  You  forget  that  courtesy 
whjch  is  due  to  a father.” 

“ Exacted  of  a father,”  corrected  the  girl. 

“ And  due  to  him  as  a father,”  said  Lord  Lamerton 
gravely.  His  cigar  was  out.  He  struck  a fusee  and 
lighted  it  again.  His  hand  was  not  steady  ; Arminell  looked 
in  his  face,  illumined  by  the  fusee,  and  her  heart  relented. 
That  was  a good,  kind  face,  a guileless  face,  very  honest, 
and  she  could  see  by  the  flare  of  the  match  that  it  was 
troubled.  But  her  perverse  mood  gained  the  upper  hand 
again  in  a moment.  She  possessed  the  feminine  instinct  in 
dealing  with  men,  when  threatened,  to  attack,  not  wait  to 
be  attacked. 

“ I do  not  think  it  fair,  papa,  that  my  lady  should  hide 
herself  behind  you,  and  thrust  you  forward,  as  besiegers 
attack  a fortress,  from  behind  a screen.” 

“ You  are  utterly  mistaken,  Arminell,  if  you  imagine  that 
your  mother — your  step-mother — has  intentions  of  attacking 
you.  Her  heart  overflows  with  kindness  towards  you, 
the  warmest  kindness.” 

“ Papa,  when  Vesuvius  is  in  eruption,  the  villagers  in 
proximity  pray  to  heaven  to  divert  into  the  sea,  anywhere 
but  towards  them,  the  warm  gush  of  incandescent  lava.” 

“ Arminell,”  said  her  father,  “you  pain  me  inexpressibly. 
I suppose  that  it  is  inevitable  that  a daughter  by  a first  wife 
should  not  agree  thoroughly  with  her  father’s  second  choice  ; 
but,  ’pon  my  soul,  I can  see  no  occasion  for  you  to  take  up 
arms  against  your  step-mother ; she  has  been  too  forbearing 
with  you.  She  is  the  kindest,  most  considerate  and  con- 
scientious of  women.” 

“You  may  spare  me  the  enumeration  of  her  good 
qualities,  papa  : I am  sure  she  is  a paragon  in  your  eyes, 


214 


ARMINELL. 


and  I would  not  disturb  the  happy  conviction.  I suppose 
marriage  is  much  like  the  transfusion  of  blood  practised  by 
the  renaissance  physicians.  An  injection  of  rabbit’s  blood 
into  the  arm  of  a turbulent  man  made  him  sensible  to  fear, 
and  one  of  lion’s  blood  into  the  arteries  of  a coward  in 
fused  heroism  into  his  soul.  When  there  was  an  interchange 
of  blood  between  two  individuals  they  came  to  think  alike, 
feel  alike,  and  act  alike ; it  is  a happy  condition.  But  as 
there  has  been  no  infusion  of  my  lady’s  blood  into  me — I 
think  and  feel  and  act  quite  differently  from  her.” 

“ We  will  leave  her  out  of  the  question,”  said  Lord 
Lamerton,  dropping  his  daughter’s  arm  which  at  first  he  had 
taken  affectionately.  “ Confound  it,  my  cigar  is  out  again, 
the  tobacco  must  be  bad.  I will  not  trouble  to  relight  it.” 

“ By  all  means  let  us  leave  my  lady  out  of  the  question,’’ 
said  Arminell.  “ I suppose  I am  not  to  be  court-martialed 
for  having  discussed  Noah’s  Ark  on  Sunday  with  the  tutor. 
I assure  you  we  did  not  question  the  universality  of  the 
Flood,  we  talked  only  of  the  packing  of  the  animals  in  the 
Ark.” 

“ Was  there  any  necessity  for  Mr.  Saltren  to  come  to  you 
in  the  music-room  ? ” 

“No  necessity  whatever.  He  came  for  the  pleasure  of 
talking  to  me,  not  even  to  turn  over  my  music  leaves.” 

“You  must  not  forget,  my  dear,  who  he  is.” 

“ I do  not,  I assure  you,  papa,  it  is  precisely  that  which 
makes  me  take  such  an  interest  in  him.” 

“Well,  my  dear,  I am  glad  of  that;  but  you  must  not 
allow  him  to  forget  what  is  due  to  you.  It  will  not  do  for 
you  to  encourage  him.  He  is  only  a mining  captain’s  son.” 
“ Papa,”  said  Arminell,  slowly  and  emphatically,  “ I know 
very  well  whose  son  he  is.” 

“ Of  course  you  do  ; all  I say  is,  do  not  forget  it.  He  is 
a nice  fellow,  has  plenty  of  brains,  and  knows  his  place.” 
“Yes,  papa,”  said  Arminell,  “he  knows  his  place,  and  he 


ARMINELL.  15 

knows  how  equivocal  that  place  is.  He  is  regarded  as  one 
thing,  and  he  is  another.” 

“ I daresay  I made  a mistake  in  bringing  him  here  so 
near  to  his  father.” 

* 

“ So  very  near  to  his  father,  and  yet  so  separated  from 
him.” 

“ I suppose  so,”  said  Lord  Lamerton,  “ education  does 
separate.” 

“ It  separates  so  widely  that  those  who  are  divided  by  it 
hardly  regard  each  other  as  belonging  to  the  same  human 
family.” 

“ I daresay  it  is  so  ; the  miners  cannot  judge  me  fairly 
about  the  manganese,  because  we  stand  on  different  educa 
tional  levels.” 

“ It  is  not  only  those  beneath  the  line  who  misjudge 
those  above  ; it  is  sometimes  the  superiors  who  misunder- 
stand those  below.” 

“ Very  possibly  ; but,  my  dear,  that  lower  class,  with 
limited  culture  and  narrow  views,  is  nowadays  the  domin- 
ating class.  It  is,  in  fact,  the  privileged  class,  it  pays  no 
taxes,  and  yet  elects  cur  rulers ; our  class  is  politically 
swamped,  we  exist  upon  sufferance.  Formerly  the  castle 
dominated  the  cottage,  but  now  the  cottages  command  the 
castle.  We,  the  educated  and  wealthy,  are  maintained  as 
parochial  cows,  to  furnish  the  parishioners  with  milk,  and 
when  we  run  dry  are  cut  up  to  be  eaten,  and  our  bones 
treated  with  sulphuric  acid  and  given  to  the  earth  to  dress 
it  for  mangel-wurzel.” 

Arminell  was  vexed  at  the  crafty  way  in  which,  according 
to  her  view,  her  father  shifted  ground,  when  she  approached 
too  nearly  the  delicate  secret.  She  wondered  whether  she 
had  spoken  plainly  enough  to  let  him  understand  how  much 
she  knew.  It  was  not  her  desire  to  come  to  plain  words, 
she  would  spare  him  that  humiliation.  It  would  be  quite 
enough,  it  would  answer  her  purpose  fully  to  let  him  under- 


2l6 


ARM  IN  ELL. 


stand  that  she  knew  the  real  facts  as  to  the  relationship  in 
which  she  stood  to  the  tutor. 

“ Papa,”  said  Arminell,  “ Giles  Inglett  Saltren  strikes  me 
as  standing  towards  us  much  in  the  same  relation  as  do 
those  apocryphal  books  the  names  of  which  my  lady  was 
teaching  the  children  on  Sunday.  He  is  not  canonical,  of 
questionable  origin,  and  to  be  passed  over.” 

“ I do  not  understand  you,  Armie.'' 

“ I am  sorry,  papa,  that  I do  not  see  my  way  to  express 
my  meaning  unenigmatically.” 

“ Armie,  I have  been  talking  to  mamma  about  your  pay- 
ing a visit  to  Aunt  Hermione.  You  really  ought  to  see  the 
Academy  this  year,  and,  as  mamma  and  I do  not  intend  to 
go  to  town,  it  will  be  an  opportunity  for  you.” 

“ Aunt  Hermione  ! ” — Arminell  stood  still.  “ I don't 
want  to  go  to  her.  Why  should  I go  ? I do  not  like  her, 
and  she  detests  me.” 

“ My  dear,  I wish  it.1 

“ What  ? That  I should  see  the  Academy  ? I can  take 
a day  ticket,  run  up,  race  through  Burlington  House,  and 
come  home  the  same  evening.” 

“ No,  my  dear,  I wish  you  to  stay  a couple  of  months  at 
least,  with  Hermione.” 

“ I see — you  want  to  put  me  off,  out  of  the  way  of  the 
tutor,  so  as  to  have  no  more  talk,  no  more  confidences  with 
him.  That  is  my  lady's  scheme.  It  is  too  late,  papa,  do 
you  understand  me  ? It  is  too  late.” 

“ What  do  you  mean  ? ” 

“ What  I say.  This  is  locking  the  door  after  the  horse 
is  stolen.  Send  me  away  ! It  will  not  alter  matters  one 
scrap.  As  I said  before,  the  precautions  have  come  too 
late.” 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 


c<  FROM  OUR  OWN  CORRESPONDENT.” 

Suddenly,  in  the* midst  of  his  breakfast,  Lord  Lamerton 
uttered  an  exclamation  and  turned  purple,  and  thrust  his 
chair  from  the  table. 

Lady  Lamerton  sprang  from  her  seat.  Arminell  was 
alarmed.  She  had  not  seen  her  father  in  this  condition  be- 
fore ; was  he  threatened  with  apoplexy  ? 

“ Look  at  it ! God  bless  my  soul ! ” gasped  his  lordship, 
“ What  confounded  scoundrel  has  written  it  ? Look  at  it, 
Julia,  it  is  monstrous.” 

He  thrust  a newspaper  from  him. 

“ It  is  in  this  damned  Radical  daily.  Look  at  it,  Julia  ! 
Where  is  Macduff!  I want  Macduff.  Til  send  for  my 
solicitor.  Confound  their  impudence,  and  the  lies — the 
lies  ! ” Lord  Lamerton  gasped  for  breath,  then  he  went  on 
again,  “From  our  Own  Correspondent — who  is  he  ? If  I 
knew  I would  have  him  dragged  through  the  horsepond  ; 
the  grooms  and  keepers  would  do  it — delighted  to  do  it — 
if  I stood  consequences.  Here  am  I held  up  as  a monster 
of  injustice,  to  the  scorn,  the  abhorrence  of  all  right-minded 
men,  because  I have  capriciously  closed  the  manganese 
mine.  There  is  a harrowing  picture  drawn  of  a hundred 
householders  thrown  out  of  work — and  thrown  out  of  work, 
it  is  suggested,  because  at  the  last  election  they  voted 
Liberal ; I am  depopulating  Auburn — I am  in  a degree 


2i8 


ARMINELL. 


breaking  up  families.  Not  a word  about  the  mine  threat- 
ening my  foundations — not  a hint  that  I have  lost  a thou- 
sand pounds  a year  by  it  these  five  years.  I am  driving  the 
trade  out  of  the  country  ; and,  as  if  that  were  not  enough, 
here  is  a sketch  of  the  sort  of  house  in  which  I pig  my 
tenants — Patience  Kite's  tumble-down  hovel  at  the  old 
lime-quarry  ! As  if  I were  responsible  for  that,  when  she 
has  it  on  lives,  and  we  want  to  turn  her  out  and  repair  it, 
and  she  won’t  go.  When  we  have  condemned  the  house, 
and  gone  as  far  as  the  law  will  allow  us  ! Where  is  Mac- 
duff? I must  see  Macduff  about  this;  and  then” — his 
lordship  nearly  strangled,  his  throat  swelled  and  he  was  ob- 
liged to  loose  his  cravat — “and  then  there  is  a picture 
drawn  in  the  liveliest  colours  of  Saltren’s  house — 1 beg  your 
pardon,  Saltren,  this  must  cause  you  as  much  annoyance  as 
it  does  myself — of  Chillacot,  in  beautiful  order,  as  it  is ; 
Captain  Saltren  does  right  by  whatever  he  has  the  care  of — 
of  Chillacot  as  an  instance  of  a free  holding,  of  a holding 
not  under  one  of  those  leviathans,  the  great  landlords  of 
England.  Look  at  this,  then  look  at  that — look  at  Patience 
Kite’s  ruin  and  Captain  Saltren’s  villa  ; there  you  have  in  a 
nutshell  the  difference  between  free  land  and  land  in  bonds, 
under  one  of  the  ogres,  the  earth-eaters.  God  bless  my 
soul,  it  is  monstrous  ; and  it  will  all  be  believed,  and  I 
shall  walk  about  pointed  at  as  a tyrant,  an  enemy  of  the 
people,  a disgrace  to  my  country  and  my  class.  I don’t 
care  whether  she  kicks  and  curses,  I will  take  the 
law  into  my  hands  and  at  once  have  Mrs.  Kite  turned 
out,  and  her  cottage  pulled  down  or  put  in  order.  I 
suppose  I dare  not  pull  it  down,  or  the  papers  will  be 
down  on  me  again.  I will  not  have  a cottage  on  my 
land  described  as  this  has  been,  and  the  blame  laid  on 
me  ; the  woman  shall  give  up  her  lease.  How  came  the 
fellow  to  see  the  cottage?  He  describes  it  accurately; 
it  is  true  that  the  door  has  tumbled  in  ; it  is  true  that  the 


# ARM  I NELL. 


219 


chimney  threatens  to  fall ; it  is  true  that  the  staircase  is  all 
to  pieces,  but  this  is  no  fault  of  mine.  He  has  talked  to 
Mrs.  Kite,  but  I am  sure  she  never  used  the  words  he  has 
put  i.  o her  mouth.  Where  is  Macduff?  1 wish,  my  dear 
Saltren,  you  would  find  him  and  send  him  to  me.  By- 
the-way,  have  you  spoken  to  your  father  about — what  was 
it  ? Oh,  yes,  the  sale  of  his  house.  Fortunate  it  is  that  a 
railway  company,  and  not  I,  want  Chillacot,  or  I should  be 
represented  as  the  rich  man  demanding  the  ewe  lamb,  as 
coveting  Naboth’s  vineyard,  by  this  prophet  of  the  press. 
Who  the  deuce  is  he?  He  must  have  been  here  and  must 
know  something  of  the  place  ; there  is  just  so  much  of  truth 
mixed  up  with  the  misrepresentations  as  to  make  the  case 
look  an  honest  one.  I want  Macduff.  Have  you  seen 
your  father  about  that  matter  of  Chillacot,  Saltren  ? ” 

“ My  lord,”  said  Jingles,  “I  am  sorry  I have  not  seen 
him  yet.  In  fact,  to  tell  the  truth,  I — I yesterday  forgot 
the  commission.” 

“ Oh  ! ” said  Lord  Lamerton,  now  hot  and  irritable,  “ oh 
don’t  trouble  yourself  any  more  about  it.  I’ll  send 
Matthews  after  Macduff.  I’ll  go  down  to  Chillacot  myself. 
Confound  this  correspondent.  His  impudence  is  amazing.” 

Lord  Lamerton  took  most  matters  easily.  The  enig- 
matical words  of  his  daughter,  the  preceding  evening,  in 
the  avenue,  had  not  made  much  impression  on  him.  They 
were,  he  said,  part  of  her  rodomontade.  But  he  repeated 
them  to  his  wife,  and  to  her  they  had  a graver  significance 
than  he  attributed  to  them.  This  article  in  the  paper,  how- 
ever, agitated  him  deeply,  and  he  was  very  angry,  more 
angry  than  any  one  had  seen  him  for  several  years  ; and  the 
last  explosion  was  caused  by  the  poisoning  of  some  of  his 
fox-hounds. 

“ Matthews,  send  James  down  after  Mr.  Macduff  at 
once.” 

“ Yes,  my  lord.” 


220 


ARMINELL.  • 


“ And,  Saltren,  a word  with  you  in  the  smoking-room  il 
you  can  spare  me  the  time.” 

“ I am  at  your  service,  my  lord.” 

Lord  Lamerton  had  been  so  excited  by  the  article  he  had 
read  that  he  was  in  a humour  to  find  fault ; and,  as  Viola 
says, 

“ Like  the  haggard  cheek  at  every  feather 
That  comes  before  his  eye.” 

Such  moods  did  not  last  long ; he  was  the  slowest  of 
men  to  be  roused,  and  when  angry,  the  most  placable ; but 
an  injustice  angered  him,  and  he  had  been  unjustly  treated 
in  the  article  in  that  morning’s  paper. 

There  must  be  deep  in  our  souls,  some  original  sense  of 
justice,  for  there  is  nothing  so  maddens  a man  and  sweeps 
him  in  angry  fever  beyond  the  control  of  reason,  as  a sense 
of  injustice  done,  not  only  to  himself,  but  to  another.  It 
is  the  violation  of  this  ineradicable  sense  of  justice  which 
provokes  to  the  commission  of  the  grossest  injustice,  for  it 
blinds  the  eyes  to  all  extenuations  and  qualifying  circum- 
stances. It  is  an  expansive  and  explosive  gas  that  lies 
latent  in  every  breast — in  the  most  pure  and  crystalline,  an 
infinite  blessing  to  the  world,  but  often  infinitely  mis- 
chievous. It  is  the  moral  dynamite  in  our  composition. 

There  is  a hot  well  in  Iceland  called  Strokr  which 
bubbles  and  steams  far  below  the  surface,  the  most  in- 
nocuous, apparently,  of  hot  springs,  and  one  that  is  even 
beneficial.  But  if  a clod  of  turf  be  thrown  down  the  gullet, 
Strokr  holds  his  breath  for  a moment  and  is  then  resolved 
into  a raging  geyser,  a volcano  of  scalding  steam  and 
water.  I once  let  a flannel-shirt  down  by  a fishing-line, 
thinking  to  wash  it  in  the  cauldron  of  Strokr,  and  Strokr 
resented  the  insult,  and  blew  my  shirt  to  threads,  so  that  I 
never  recovered  of  it — no,  not  a button.  It  is  so  with  men, 
they  are  all  Strokrs,  with  a fund  of  warmth  in  their  hearts, 


ARMINELL. 


221 


and  they  grumble  and  fume,  but,  for  all  that,  exhale  much 
heat,  and  nourish  flowers  about  them  and  pasture  for  sheep 
and  asses,  but  some  slight  wad  of  turf,  or  a dirty  flannel- 
shirt — some  trifling  wrong  done  their  sense  of  justice, — and 
they  become  raging  geysers. 

Lord  Lamerton  was  not  so  completely  transformed  as  that, 
because  culture  imposes  control  on  a man,  but  he  was  bub- 
bling and  squirting.  He  was  not  angry  with  the  tutor, 
personally,  because  he  did  not  think  that  the  young 
man  was  blameworthy.  What  indiscretion  had  been  com- 
mitted, had  been  committed  by  Arminell.  With  her  he 
was  angry,  because  her  tone  towards  him  and  her  behaviour 
to  her  step-mother  were  defiant.  “ Saltren,”  said  he,  when 
he  reached  the  smoking-room  and  was  alone  with  Jingles, 
“ do  you  think  your  uncle  could  have  written  that  abomin- 
able article  ? I did  not  mention  my  suspicion  in  the  break- 
fast room,  so  as  not  to  give  you  pain,  or  trouble  the  ladies, 
but,  ’pon  my  soul,  I do  not  see  who  else  could  have  done 
it.  I heard  he  had  been  down  here  on  Sunday,  and  I 
hoped  he  had  talked  the  matter  of  the  line  and  Chillacot 
over  with  your  father,  and  had  given  him  sensible  advice. 
Yet  I can  hardly  think  he  would  do  such  an  ungracious, 
under  the  circumstances,  such  an  immoral  thing  as  write 
this,  not  merely  with  suppressio  veri , which  is  in  itself  sug- 
gests falsi , but  with  the  lies  broadly  and  frankly  put. 
Upon  my  word — I know  Welsh  is  a Radical — I do  not  see 
who  else  could  have  done  it.” 

“I  am  afraid  he  has,  though  1 cannot  say.  I did  not  see 
him,  my  lord,”  said  the  tutor. 

“ I am  sorry,  really  it  is  too  bad,  after  all  that  has  been 
done — no,  1 will  say  nothing  about  that.  Confound  it  all, 
it  is  too  bad.  And  what  can  I do?  If  I write  a correction, 
will  it  be  inserted?  If  inserted,  will  it  not  serve  for  a leader 
in  which  all  I have  admitted  is  exaggerated  and  distorted, 
and  I am  made  to  be  doubly  in  the  wrong  ? And  now,  I 


222 


ARMINELL. 


suppose  it  is  high  time  for  Giles  to  go  to  school.  I don’t 
want  you  to  suppose  that  this  idea  of  mine  has  risen  in  any 
way  from  this  damned  article,  or  has  anything  whatever  to 
do  with  it,  because  it  has  not.  I do  not  for  one  instant 
attribute  to  you  any  part  in  it.  I know  that  it  shocks  you 
as  it  shocks  me ; that  you  see  how  wrong  it  is,  as  I do. 
But,  nevertheless,  Giles  must  go  to  school ; his  mother  and 
I have  talked  it  over,  and  between  you  and  me,  I don’t 
want  the  boy—  dear  monkey  that  he  is — to  be  over-coddled 
at  home.  His  mother  is  very  fond  of  him,  and  gets  alarmed 
if  the  least  thing  is  the  matter  with  him,  and  fidgets  and 
frets,  and,  in  a word,  the  boy  may  get  spoiled  by  his  mother. 
A lad  must  learn  to  hold  his  own  among  others,  to  measure 
himself  beside  others,  and,  above  all,  to  give  way  where  it 
is  courteous,  as  well  as  right  to  give  way.  A boy  must 
learn  that  others  have  to  be  considered  as  well  as  himself, 
and  there  is  no  place  like  school  for  teaching  a fellow  that. 
So  Giles  must  go  to  school.  Poor  little  creature,  I wonder 
how  he  will  like  it  ? Cry  at  first,  and  then  make  up  his 
mind  to  bear  it.  I do  trust  if  he  have  his  bad  dreams  the 
other  chaps  won’t  bolster  and  lick  him  for  squalling  out  at 
night  and  rousing  them.  Poor  monkey  ! I hope  they  will 
make  allowance  for  him.  He  is  not  very  strong.  Giles 
must  go  to  school,  and  not  be  coddled  here.  His  mother 
is  absurdly  fond  of  the  little  fellow.  1 don’t  want  to  hurry 
you — Saltren,  and  you  can  always  rely  on  me  as  ready  to 
do  my  best  for  you,  but  I think  you  ought  to  look  about 
you,  at  your  leisure,  you  know,  but  still  look  about  you. 
And,  damn  that  article,  don’t  you  have  anything  to  do  with 
Welsh,  he  will  lead  you,  heaven  alone  knows  whither.” 

“ My  lord,”  said  Saltren,  “ you  forestall  me.  I myself 
wa.s  about  to  ask  leave  to  depart.  I have  not  the  natural 
qualifications  for  a tutor ; I lack,  perhaps,  the  necessary 
patience.  I intend  to  embrace  the  literary  profession.  In- 
deed, I may  almost  say  that  I have  secured  a situation 


ARMINELL.  223 

which  will  make  me  independent.  Secured  is,  possibly,  too 
decided  a word — I have  applied  for  one.” 

“I  am  glad  to  hear  it,  I am  very  glad.  My  lady  said  she 
thought  you  had  a fancy  for  something  else.  But — don’t 
have  anything  to  do  with  Welsh.  He  will  carry  you  along 
the  wrong  course,  along  one  where  I could  do  nothing  for 
you,  and,  I will  always  help  you  when  I can.” 

“ My  lord,  whenever  you  can,  with  convenience,  spare 
me — ” 

“ Spare  you  ! Oh  don’t  let  us  stand  in  your  way.  You 
have  almost  got  a berth  to  get  into  ? ” 

“ I have  applied  for  a place  which  I may  almost  say  I can 
calculate  on  having.  My  only  difficulty  has  been,  that  I did 
not  know  when  I should  be  at  liberty.  If  your  lordship 

would  kindly  allow  me  to  leave  immediately ” 

“ My  dear  fellow,  suit  your  own  convenience.  We  can 
manage  with  Giles.  The  rector  will  give  him  an  hour  or 
two  of  Latin  and  Greek,  till  the  term  begins,  when  he  can 
go  to  school.  I don’t  know  that  I won’t  let  the  monkey  run 
wild  till  the  time  comes  for  the  tasks  to  begin.” 

“ Then,  my  lord,  it  is  understood  that  I may  go  im- 
mediately ? ” 

“ Certainly.” 

Though  Lord  Lamerton  gave  his  consent,  he  was  a little 
surprised  at  the  readiness  of  the  tutor  to  leave  Orleigh,  and 
to  throw  up  his  situation  before  he  had  really  secured  an- 
other. There  was  something  ungracious  in  his  conduct 
after  all  the  kindnesses  he  had  received  which  jarred  on  his 
lordship’s  feelings.  He  had  a real  liking  for  the  young  man, 
and  he  was  desirous  that  he  should  do  well  for  himself.  He 
was  unable  to  resist  the  temptation  to  say — “ You  seem  in 
a vast  hurry  to  leave  us,  Saltren.” 

“I  have  reasons,  my  lord.  Something  has  occurred 
which  makes  it  imperative  on  me  to  leave  this  house  im- 
mediately.” 


224 


ARMINELL. 


“ Do  you  refer  to  this  article  by  our  own  correspon- 
dent?” 

“Not  at  all,  my  lord.  It  has  no  connection  with  that. 
Something,  a distressing  secret,  has  come  to  my  knowledge, 
which  forces  me  to  quit  Orleigh.” 

“ What  the  deuce  is  it  ? ” 

“ I will  probably  write  to  you,  my  lord,  about  it  when  T am 
away.” 

“ It  is  a secret  then,  between  you  and  me,  and — any  one 
else  ? ” 

“ It  is  a secret  that  concerns  me  most  closely,  and  indeed, 
others  beside  me.  But,  no  doubt,  your  lordship  has  divined 
to  what  I allude.” 

Lord  Lamerton  turned  hot  and  cold.  Now  Arminell’s 
mysterious  words  recurred  to  his  memory.  What  had  her 
meaning  been?  Was  the  tutor  referring  to  the  same 
matter  ? Had  that  headstrong  girl  thrown  herself  into  his 
arms,  protesting  that  she  loved  him  ? Very  likely.  She 
was  capable  of  doing  such  a thing.  What  else  could  she 
have  meant  ? What  else  could  induce  the  young  man  to  go 
precipitately  ? 

Lord  Lamerton  hesitated  a moment  what  to  say,  looking 
down,  and  knitting  his  brows. 

“ You  have,  my  lord,  I can  see,  guessed  to  what  I refer. 
It  is  not  a matter  on  which  we  can  speak  together.  It  would 
be  too  painful.  Each  of  us  would  rather  say  nothing  on  a 
very  distressing  matter.  Let  what  has  passed  suffice  for  the 
present.  I am  sure,  my  lord,  that  you  can  understand  my 
motives  in  desiring  to  leave  promptly.” 

“Ton  my  soul,  I think  I do.  Dash  it,  I do  ! ” 

“ Then,  my  lord,  you  will  not  desire  to  retain  me  in 
Orleigh  any  longer  ? ” 

“No — for  God’s  sake,  go.  I respect  you.  You  are  be- 
having aright.  I am  sorry,  I am  ashamed,  but  there,  there, 
you  are  acting  properly.  I will  not  say  another  word.  Go 


ARMINELL.  225 

where  you  like,  and  always  look  to  me  as  your  friend,  nay, 
as  taking  almost  a fatherly  interest  in  you.” 

He  held  out  his  hand,  caught  that  of  young  Saltren  and 
pressed  it,  then  left  the  room  for  his  wife's  boudoir. 

“ Julia,”  said  he,  in  an  agitated  tone,  “ things  are  worse 
than  we  imagined.  I thought  nothing  of  it,  but  you  women 
have  eyes  where  men  are  blind.” 

“ What  has  happened  ? ” 

“Armie — good  heavens! — Armie  has  oi/erea  herself  to 
young  Saltren,  and  he,  like  a gentleman,  like  a true,  honour- 
able gentleman,  has  asked  me  to  let  him  go,  because  he 
cannot  remain  here  any  longer,  under  the  circumstances.” 

“ Did  he  tell  you  this  ? ” 

“ Not  in  so  many  words,  but  there  was  no  mistaking  his 
meaning.  Of  course  he  felt  a delicacy — he  did  not  like  to 
say  how — but,  there,  there ! I shall  be  angry  again.  Ah, 
that  girl ! Armie  is  well  off,  has  her  mother’s  fortune ; he 
knows  that,  but  was  not  to  be  dazzled.  He  sees  what  is 
right  to  be  done,  and  does  it.  Hah  ! There  comes  Mac- 
duff. I see  him  in  the  drive.  I’ll  have  the  masons  at  once, 
this  morning,  and  tear  down  Patience  Kite’s  cottage,” 


v-.-W 

I 


CHAPTER  <£XIV. 

A HANDLE  TO  THE  ENEMY. 

When  Lord  Lamerton  decided  that  a thing  was  to  be  done, 
he  liked  to  have  it  done  at  once,  and  now  that  he  was 
thoroughly  roused,  he  would  brook  no  delay  in  the  matter 
of  Patience  Kite’s  cottage. 

Mrs.  Kite  had  baffled  the  authorities.  There  was  no 
question  that  her  house  was  unfit  to  be  inhabited  by  a 
human  being,  and  that  her  life  was  not  safe  in  it.  A heavy 
gale  might  bring  the  roof  and  chimney  down  on  her  in  her 
bed  and  bury  her.  The  relieving  officer  had  complained 
and  remonstrated.  The  sanitary  officer  had  viewed  the 
ruin  and  had  condemned  it.  Mr.  Macduff  had  ordered 
Mrs.  Kite  to  put  the  cottage  in  repair.  She  didn  othing, 
and  apparently  nothing  could  be  done  with  her.  She  ab- 
solutely refused  to  leave  her  cottage,  and  to  put  it  in 
habitable  condition  was  beyond  he.r  power.  If  this  case 
had  occurred  anywhere  in  Europe  except  in  England,  the 
police  would  have  made  short  work  with  Mrs.  Kite,  but  in 
England,  every  man’s  house  is  his  castle,  in  whatever  con- 
dition the  house  may  be.  Now,  had  a drain  from  Mrs. 
Kite’s  hovel  proved  a nuisance  to  neighbours,  she  could 
have  been  dealt  with,  but  she  had  no  drains  at  all ; and  her 
roof  threatened  no  one  but  herself.  The  authorities  had 
necessarily  consumed  much  time  over  Mrs.  Kite,  and  all  to 
no  purpose.  The  sanitary  officer  complained  to  the  board 


aRMINELL. 


227 


of  guardians  a month  after  viewing  and  condemning  the 
house.  The  guardians  waited  another  month  and  then 
waited  on  the  magistrates  in  petty  sessions  to  issue  an 
order  to  Mrs.  Kite  to  vacate  her  cottage.  The  order  was 
issued  and  served.  Another  month  passed,  and  Mrs.  Kite 
had  not  budged.  At  the  next  petty  sessions  enquiry  was 
made  whether  any  further  steps  could  be  taken.  It  ap- 
peared that  Mrs.  Kite  was  liable  to  a fine  of  ten  shillings 
for  every  day  she  remained  after  the  order  had  been  served, 
but,  as  the  sergeant  of  police  observed  to  the  magistrates, 
all  her  goods,  if  sold,  would  not  fetch  ten  shillings,  and  the 
clerk  of  the  court  could  find  no  precedent  for  evicting  the 
old  woman  ; all  that  could  be  done  would  be  to  sell  her 
goods,  but  that  was  the  limit  of  their  power. 

She  was,  it  was  true,  by  her  tenure,  bound  to  keep  the 
house  in  good  order,  and  accordingly  Lord  Lamerton,  as 
lord  of  the  manor,  demanded  this,  but  she  did  nothing.  It 
was  true  that  he  might,  in  the  event  of  a tenant  neglecting 
to  fulfil  the  stipulation,  order  the  repair,  and  distrain  on  the 
tenant  for  the  costs.  But  Mrs.  Kite  was  not  worth  dis- 
training, and  the  house  was  not  worth  rebuilding.  No  one, 
after  the  old  woman’s  death,  would  care  to  live  in  such  a 
lonely  spot.  To  rebuild,  would  cost  a hundred  and  fifty 
or  two  hundred  pounds.  However,  rather  than  that  the 
scandal  should  continue,  Lord  Lamerton  resolved  to  re- 
build, when  he  learned  that  legally  he  might  not  pull  down 
without  rebuilding.  So  Mrs.  Kite  was  about  to  put  his 
lordship  to  the  cost  of  nearly  two  hundred  pounds  to  save 
her  life  in  her  own  despite.  We  have  odd  ways  of  doing 
things  in  England.* 

The  news  that  Mrs.  Kite’s  house  was  to  be  pulled  about 
her  ears  rapidly  spread  through  the  village,  and  many  people 

* As  already  said,  this  is  an  actual  case.  The  magistrates’  order 
was  issued  in  February  1887,  and  has  been  defied  to  present  date, 
September  1889. 


228 


ARMINELL. 


assembled  to  see  the  ejection  of  the  hag  and  the  demolition 
of  roof  and  chimney. 

Mrs.  Kite  was  a personage  not  a little  dreaded ; she  was 
what  is  called  a wise-woman ; she  was  consulted  when  any 
of  the  cottagers  were  ill.  The  medical  man  was  sent  for 
reluctantly,  and  little  trust  was  put  in  his  medicines,  but  the 
wise-woman  enjoyed  the  fullest  confidence.  To  meddle 
with  her  was  a dangerous  matter.  She  used  her  powers  for 
good,  but  it  was  quite  possible  for  her  to  employ  them 
otherwise.  No  one  cared  to  provoke  her.  Every  one  de- 
sired to  stand  on  good  terms  with  her.  Before  the  rector 
and  Mrs.  Cribbage,  and  my  lady  and  the  Macduffs,  the 
villagers  spoke  disparagingly- of  Patience  Kite,  but  among 
themselves  they  regarded  her  with  respect. 

Some  ill  would  come  of  this  action  of  Lord  Lamerton, 
they  argued ; he  might  be  a great  man,  but  there  are  things 
with  which  the  greatest  cannot  cope.  Ill  would  come 
of  it ; how,  no  one  could  say,  but  somehow,  all  agreed,  it 
would  come.  Had  not  Patience’s  uncle  beaten  her  when 
she  was  a child,  and  his  house  had  been  burnt  down? 
True,  folks  said  that  Patience  had  fired  it,  and  true  it  was 
she  had  been  sent  to  prison  on  that  account ; but  it  was 
said  she  had  done  it  only  because  they  could  not  otherwise 
account  for  the  fire.  There  was  Farmer  Worth  called  her 
an  ugly  name  once,  when  she  asked  for  skimmed  milk,  and 
sure  enough  his  cows  had  dropped  their  calves  after  till  he 
got  a goat  to  run  along  with  them.  Moreover,  the  villagers 
argued,  why  should  a woman  be  ejected  from  her  house? 
Her  father  had  built  the  cottage,  and  it  was  on  three  lives, 
his,  his  wife’s  and  child’s,  and  now  it  was  Patience’s  as  long 
as  the  breath  was  in  her.  If  she  chose  to  keep  it  in  bad 
repair  that  was  her  look-out.  Because  a woman  wore  rags, 
was  that  a reason  why  Lord  Lamerton  and  Mr.  Macduff 
should  pull  her  gown  off  her  back?  Because  she  had  a 
bad  tooth  or  two  in  her  head,  had  they  any  right  to  knock 


ARMINELL. 


22Q 


out  all  the  sound  teeth  in  her  jaw?  Because  she  had  not 
patent-leather  dancing-pumps,  was  she  to  be  forced  to  go 
barefoot?  Because  she  didn’t  keep  her  hair  over  tidy,  was 
that  a reason  why  she  should  have  her  head  shaved  ? Lord 
Lamerton  had  no  right  to  interfere.  England  is  a free 
country,  in  which  folks  may  act  as  they  like,  and  live  as 
they  like,  so  long  as  they  do  not  interfere  with  their  neigh- 
bours, and  Mrs.  Kite  had  no  neighbours.  Her  cottage  was 
not  within  sight  of  Orleigh  Park — it  did  his  lordship  no 
injury.  Did  Mrs.  Kite’s  kitchen  chimney  threaten  to  fall 
on  Lord  Lamerton’s  head?  Folks,  even  lords,  have  no 
right  to  interfere  with  those  who  don’t  interfere  with  them. 

Popular  sympathy  went  altogether  with  Patience  Kite. 
Perhaps  at  another  time  the  villagers  would  have  been  more 
disposed  to  judge  reasonably,  but  at  this  juncture  they  were 
smarting  under  the  sense  of  wrong  caused  by  the  closing  of 
the  manganese  mine,  and  were  therefore  disposed  to  make 
common  cause  with  any  one  against  whom  his  lordship 
acted  with  apparent  rigour. 

When  Macduff  and  his  workmen  came  to  the  hovel,  they 
found  a number  of  sympathisers  assembled,  mostly  miners 
out  of  work  and  some  women. 

Outside  the  cottage  sat  Thomasine.  She  had  been  sent 
back  to  her  mother  from  Court  farm  because  of  her  sprained 
ankle,  which  incapacitated  her  for  work.  Archelaus  Tubb 
was  there  also.  He,  likewise,  was  out  of  work — not  an  un- 
usual condition  with  him,  for  he  was  a bad  workman  what- 
ever he  took  up,  and  got  his  dismissal  wherever  he  went. 
The  girl  was  pouting;  she  had  her  hands  folded  in  her  lap, 
and  her  brows  bent.  She  looked  wonderfully  handsome, 
with  a dash  of  savagery  in  her  beauty. 

Within  the  house  was  Mrs.  Kite.  She  had  put  together 
her  few  valuables  in  an  oak  chest,  and  sat  on  it,  near  her 
hearth,  with  her  feet  on  the  hearthstone,  and  her  arms 
folded.  She  would  not  move.  The  house  might  be  dis- 


230 


ARMINELL. 


mantled  about  her,  but  there  she  would  remain  to  the 
last. 

Mr.  Macduff  entered  the  cottage,  and  received  a scowl 
from  Thomasine  as  he  passed  her.  He  endeavoured,  but 
in  vain,  to  persuade  the  woman  to  come  outside. 

“But,”  said  Mr.  Macduff,  “they’re  about  to  pu’  the  roof 
down  over  your  head.” 

Mrs.  Kite  made  no  answer. 

Then  he  became  angry,  and  ordered  two  masons  to  enter 
the  ruin  and  remove  the  old  woman  ; but  this  they  were 
afraid  to  do.  They  pretended  that  the  reason  was  lest  she 
should  bring  an  action  against  them ; really,  lest  she  should 
“overlook”  them  ; that  is,  cast  an  evil  eye  upon  them. 

“ I’ll  give  half  a sovereign  to  any  who  will  bring  her  out,” 
offered  the  agent. 

The  men  shrugged  their  shoulders,  and  a miner  who  was 
lounging  against  a tree  in  the  rear  muttered,  “ If  you’re  so 
anxious  to  get  her  out,  you  and  his  lordship  had  be^T  drag 
her  out  yourselves.” 

“ Begin  with  the  demolition,”  ordered  Macduff. 

The  workmen  scrambled  on  the  roof,  and  commenced 
tearing  off  the  old,  thin  and  rotten  thatch,  beginning  at  the 
end  furthest  removed  from  that  where  the  old  woman  sat. 

A few  groans  and  exclamations  of  “ shame  ! ” issued  from 
the  lookers-on. 

As  the  thatch  was  being  riven  away,  plaster  from  the 
rotten  ceiling  fell,  and  with  it  drifts  of  straw,  into  the  cottage. 
Dust  rose,  thick  and  blinding,  but  Mrs.  Kite  refused  to  stir. 
She  would  stifle  there  rather  than  desert  her  hearth. 

Again  Macduff  went  to  the  door  to  expostulate.  The 
woman  answered  with  a snarl,  as  a wild  beast  worried  in  its 
lair. 

“ Go  on,”  shouted  Macduff  to  the  men. 

Then  suddenly  a tie-beam  gave  way,  and  fell  through 
with  a crash,  to  the  cottage  floor. 


ARMINELL. 


23I 


Immediately  ensued  a rush  of  lookers-on  to  the  cottage 
door  and  windows,  but  the  dust  drave  out  in  their  faces, 
thick  as  steam,  preventing  them  from  seeing  anything.  But, 
though  Patience  could  not  be  seen,  her  voice  was  heard 
muttering  behind  the  fog  of  lime  and  dust  of  rotten  wood. 

Macduff  did  not  relish  his  task.  Lord  Lamerton  was  not 
present ; he  had  gone  to  a ploughing  match,  where  he  was 
to  distribute  the  prizes.  If  my  lord  had  been  at  home,  the 
agent  would  have  asked  for  further  directions;  but,  as  he 
was  away,  he  felt  bound  to  proceed  according  to  his 
orders. 

The  workmen  engaged  on  the  roof  now  discovered  that 
their  lunch  hour  had  arrived,  and  they  descended  the 
ladders  with  alacrity  to  regale  themselves  on  the  cake  and 
cold  tea  they  had  brought  with  them. 

The  pause  allowed  the  dust  to  c lear  away,  and  Macduff, 
looking  through  the  doorway,  descried  Mrs.  Kite,  powdered 
with  lime,  her  hair  almost  white,  still  crouched  on  her  box 
in  the  same  place,  resting  her  chin  in  her  hands,  and  her 
elbows  on  her  knees. 

What  was  he  to  do  ? He  bit  his  lips,  and  swore  in  broaa 
Scotch.  The  masons  were  eating  and  joking  among  them- 
selves. The  miners  were  muttering. 

Leisurely — before  Macduff  had  decided  on  a course,  and 
reluctantly,  the  masons  refolded  their  bundles,  and  returned 
to  the  ladders. 

“ Rip  off  the  straw,”  said  the  agent,  “ but  be  varry  careful 
not  to  disturb  the  principals.  If  the  old  creature  finds  she 
has  nae  cover  o’er  her  head  when  the  rain  comes,  maybe 
she’ll  depart  of  her  own  accord.” 

The  stripping  off  of  the  thatch  was  resumed,  and  the 
dust  fell  thicker  over  the  part  of  the  room  where  Mrs.  Kite 
sat ; it  poured  out  of  every  opening,  it  rose  from  where  the 
roof  had  been  torn  ; the  cottage  resembled  a smoking  dung- 
hill, and  the  cloud  spread  over  and  enveloped  the  whole 


232 


ARMINELL. 


clearing,  powdering  grass  and  bushes,  and  the  coats  and 
boots  of  the  spectators. 

All  at  once,  a shout  from  a mason,  then  a crash.  He 
had  been  astride  on  a principal  when  it  had  given  way  and 
the  man  had  fallen  through  the  ceiling  into  the  room  beneath, 
tearing  down  the  laths  and  plaster  with  him.  He  was  not 
injured,  he  came  forth  a moment  later,  coughing  and 
sneezing,  as  dusty  as  a miller,  and  was  saluted  with 
laughter. 

“ Halloo  there ! ” shouted  Macduff.  “ The  roof  is 
going.  ” 

The  failure  of  one  principal  entailed  the  fall  of  the  rest ; 
they  were  dragged  out  of  place ; they  slanted  on  one  side, 
parted  from  the  chimney,  but  remained  on  the  walls,  inclined. 

Thomasine,  alarmed  for  her  mother’s  safety,  now  clung  to 
the  door,  and  cried  to  her  to  come  forth.  She  could  see 
nothing  for  the  cloud  that  filled  the  cottage.  Thomasine, 
lamed  by  her  sprained  ankle,  stood  at  the  door  and  limped 
painfully  a step  forward. 

“ Oh,  Arkie  ! Arkie  ! ” she  cried,  appealing  to  her  lover, 
“ do  run  in  and  force  mother  to  come  out.” 

“ But  she  will  not  come,”  remonstrated  he. 

Another  shout — now  of  dismay. 

“ The  chimney  ! the  chimney  ! ” 

A crack  had  suddenly  revealed  itself.  The  rotten  loosely- 
compacted  wall  had  parted. 

“ It  will  be  down  in  a minute  ! save  her  ! ” 

“ Five — I mean  one  sovereign  to  any  who  will  bring  her 
out,”  shouted  Macduff. 

Then  Thomasine  grasped  Archelaus’  shoulder.  “ Come,” 
she  said,  “ I will  go — help,  we  must  save  her.” 

“I  will  do  it,”  said  the  lad,  and  plunged  into  the  cottage. 

For  a moment  every  one  held  his  breath.  Thomasine 
limped  away  from  the  doomed  cottage.  All  heard  the  young 
fellow’s  voice  shouting  to  Mrs.  Kite. 


ARMINELL. 


233 


Then,  suddenly,  the  whole  chimney  came  down  with  a 
rush.  It  was  as  though  it  had  closed  into  itself  like  a 
telescope.  A dull,  heavy  thud,  muffled  by  the  dense  en- 
veloping fog  of  dust,  was  heard,  and  then  volumes  of  yellow 
smoke-like  fumes  poured  out  in  gushes  and  spirals,  and  rose 
in  a column  above  the  cottage. 

Dense  though  the  cloud  was,  in  through  it  rushed  the 
men,  stumbling  over  heaps  of  stone,  and  choking  in  the 
thick  air,  but  saw  nothing  whatever,  could  see  nothing ; and 
came  forth  coughing,  rubbing  their  eyes,  half  suffocated,  half 
blinded. 

Nothing  could  be  done,  the  extent  of  the  mischief  could 
not  be  discovered  till  the  volumes  of  fine  powder,  pungent 
as  snuff,  had  been  given  time  to  clear  away,  at  least 
partially. 

Now  Macduff  plunged  in,  and  stumbled  against  Thomasine 
weeping  and  wringing  her*  hands,  blindly  groping  in  the 
opaque  atmosphere,  thick  as  soup.  “ My  mother  ! My 
Arkie  1 They  are  both  dead  ! Both  taken  from  me  ! ” 

“ Stand  aside!”  shouted  the  agent.  “ What  creatures 
these  women  are.”  He  coughed  and  growled.  “ If  any- 
thing has  happened,  it  is  her  fault,  she  was  warned.  But 
the  blame  will  be  put  on  me.”  Then  he  shouted,  “ Tubb  1 
Tubb  ! Mrs.  Kite  ! ” but  received  no  answer. 

In  at  the  door  came  the  men  again,  miners  and  masons 
together,  and  by  crouching  they  obtained  clearer  air,  and 
were  better  able  to  see.  The  fallen  chimney  formed  a great 
heap,  and  the  ruins  were  spread  over  the  whole  floor;  but 
how  high  the  heap  rose  they  were  unable  to  distinguish,  for 
the  dust-mist  hung  about  it,  dense,  impenetrable,  disclosing 
only,  and  that  indistinctly,  the  base  of  the  mound. 

Then  a cry  from  Thomasine.  She  had  clasped  a hand 
that  protruded  from  the  rubbish  pile. 

“ It  is  Arkie  ! It  is  Arkie  ! ” she  cried.  “ He  is  dead, 
he  has  been  killed.” 


234 


ARMINELL. 


“ Run,”  ordered  Mr.  Macduff.  “ Run,  some  of  you  fel 
lows,  for  picks.” 

“ If  he’s  dead,  you’ve  killed  ’n,”  growled  a miner.  “That 
is — you  and  my  lord.”  The  man  went  forth,  whilst  the  rest, 
crouching,  wiping  their  eyes  on  their  cuffs,  and  wiping  the 
dust  into  them,  clearing  their  throats  and  choking  again, 
began  to  pull  the  stones  away.  Rut  the  chimney  had  been 
built  of  as  much  clay  as  stone.  Though  so  close  to  a lime- 
kiln, little  lime  had  been  used  in  its  construction,  and  the 
slaty  stone  itself  corroded  by  weather  and  the  lime  which 
had  lain  between  its  films  in  the  quarry  had  dissolved  to 
black  powder.  A pick  did  not  suffice  to  remove  the  rub- 
bish, shovels  were  required  as  well.  The  dust  did  not  dis- 
perse, every  upturn  of  the  heap  sent  forth  fresh  volumes 
mingled  with  soot ; but  many  hands  were  now  engaged,  and 
in  ten  minutes  Archelaus  Tubb  had  been  extracted,  and  was 
carried  forth  and  laid  on  the  turf  outside. 

He  was  so  covered  with  dust  that  he  looked  as  if  made 
of  dark  earth,  all  of  one  colour — face,  hair,  clothing, 
hands. 

“ Run  for  a doctor,”  called  Macduff.  “ Where  is  he  to 
be  taken  to?  Go  on  some  of  you  turning  over  the  heap. 
Look  for  Mrs.  Kite,  she  must  be  there.  Confound  the 
obstinacy  of  the  woman.  I shall  be  blamed  for  this,  of 
course.  Always  so.  The  saddle  put  on  the  wrong  horse. 
Some  of  you  get  water,  and  wash  his  face,  and  see  where 
the  lad  is  hurt.  Please  stand  back,  Thomasine,  you  can 
do  no  good.  I will  go  back  and  help  to  find  Mrs.  Kite. 
Why  the  de’il  could  she  not  have  come  forth  when  bidden  ? 
She  had  warning  enough  given  her.”  Then  he  returned  to 
the  cottage.  He  was  now  himself  so  covered  with  dust  that 
the  natural  colour  of  his  face  and  the  tincture  of  his  gar- 
ments could  not  be  distinguished.  Looking  up  from  inside 
the  cottage  was  like  looking  into  a London  fog.  There 
was  a great  gap  where  the  chimney  had  stood,  the  roof  was 


ARMINELL.  235 

stripped  of  its  covering  and  the  principals  were  inclined 
out  of  their  proper  positions. 

“ Well,”  said  Macduff.  “ Have  you  come  on  her  ? ” 

“We  haven’t  come  on  nothing  but  Arkie  Tubb,”  answered 
one  of  the  men.  “ There’s  a lot  of  rummage  more  to  be 
cleared  away.” 

“ Look  sharp  about  it,”  said  the  agent.  “ If  she  be 
buried,  the  only  chance  of  life  for  her  is  to  be  dug  out  at 
once.” 

“ Not  much  chance  of  life,  then,”  said  one  of  the  men. 

A quarter  of  an  hour  passed,  and  Patience  had  not  been 
exhumed. 

A diversion  of  interest  was  caused  by  the  arrival  of  the 
surgeon.  He  examined  the  young  man,  and  pronounced 
that,  though  he  was  not  dead,  ho  was  so  injured  that  he 
could  not  live  beyond  an  hour. 

The  last  heap  of  fallen  chimney-ruin  had  been  cleared 
away,  and  Mrs.  Kite  had  not  been  found. 

“ She  has  been  spirited  away,”  said  the  men.  “We 
always  knew  she  was  a wise  woman.” 

“ I wouldn’t  have  had  this  happen,”  growled  Macduff, 
“ not  for  ten  pounds — I mean,  two  pounds  ten.  What  a 
handle  this  will  give  to  the  enemy  1 w 


CHAPTER  XXV. 


BAMBOOZLED. 

Lord  Lamerton  was  that  day  engaged  in  distributing 
prizes  at  a ploughing  match,  about  fifteen  miles  away  from 
Orleigh. 

“ My  dear,”  said  he  to  his  wife  before  he  started,  “ for 
goodness’  sake  come  with  me  into  the  avenue,  and  give  me 
the  heads  of  what  I am  to  say.” 

Report  had  it  that  his  lordship  got  all  his  speeches  from 
his  wife,  and  report  was  not  far  wrong  in  so  saying. 

“ I’ll  run  up  to  Eggins,”  he  said,  “and  get  him  to  give  me 
some  wrinkles  about  ploughing.  I know  nothing  concern- 
ing it.” 

Thus  primed,  partly  by  one  of  his  farmers  and  partly  by 
his  wife,  his  lordship  started  for  the  ploughing  match  ; and 
on  reaching  the  ground  inspected  the  furrows  with  his  glass 
to  his  eye,  and  repeated  some  of  the  scraps  of  information 
he  had  gathered  from  Eggins. 

After  that  came  the  dinner,  and  after  the  dinner  the  prize 
distribution,  and  a speech  from  Lord  Lamerton. 

His  lordship  stood  up,  and  coughed.  He  was  not  a 
fluent  speaker,  nor  a ready  speaker ; indeed  he  could  not 
speak  at  all  unless  he  had  been  given  time  and  opportunity 
to  get  primed.  But  he  had  a retentive  memory,  and  when 
allowance  was  made  for  hesitation,  and  repetition,  and 
occasional  halts,  his  speeches  were  admitted  to  be  not  so 


ARMINELL. 


237 


bad  as  are  the  generality  of  such  performances.  They  read 
well ; only  it  was  a little  irritating  to  listen  to  them.  The 
hearer  never  could  be  sure  that  his  lordship  would  not  break 
down  altogether.  Speaking  made  him  and  his  audience 
hot.  They  perspired  sympathetically.  It  made  him  un- 
certain what  to  do  with  his  legs,  and  those  listening  to  his 
words  found  their  attention  drawn  away  to  his  inferior 
members,  and  were  kept  in  suspense  as  to  what  he  would 
do  next  with  his  extremities.  Sometimes  he  endeavoured 
to  stand  on  one  foot,  and  then  he  invariably  lost  his  bal- 
ance, and  grabbed  at  the  table-cloth,  or  a lady’s  bonnet  to 
stay  himself  from  falling.  On  such  an  occasion  he  lost  the 
thread  of  his  discourse,  and  had  to  seek  it  in  his  pocket- 
handkerchief,  whilst  those  listening  good-naturedly  stamped 
and  rapped  the  table,  and  shrieked  “ Hear,  hear  ! ” 

Sometimes  he  curled  one  leg  round  the  other  in  such  a 
manner  that  to  recover  himself  he  was  obliged  to  face 
about,  and  he  found  himself  addressing  the  latter  part  of  a 
sentence  to  the  waiter  and  the  tent  wall  behind  him,  instead 
of  the  audience  at  the  table.  It  was  said  that  once  he  put 
his  foot  into  his  plate  on  the  table,  but  this  was  an  exag- 
geration ; he  caught  himself  about  to  do  it  and  desisted  in 
time. 

How  is  it  that  the  Englishman  is  so  poor  a speaker  ? I 
believe  that  the  language  is  partly  the  cause.  The  English 
tongue  is  so  simple  in  its  structure  that  it  runs  out  of  the 
mouth  faster  than  the  ideas  it  is  supposed  to  express  have 
taken  shape  in  the  brain  Consequently  we  males,  some- 
times women  even,  say  things  before  we  have  thought  them 
out,  and  then  are  embarrassed  because  the  thought  lags 
behind  the  word,  like  the  thunder  after  the  flash. 

In  such  a language  as  the  German,  however,  the  mind 
has  to  formulate  the  sentence  in  all  its  ramifications  and 
subsidiary  articulations,  before  it  is  uttered.  The  idea  is 
kneaded,  and  squeezed  into  a shape  and  then  baked.  A 


238 


ARMINELL. 


tap,  and  out  of  the  buttered  mould  comes  the  sentence, 
compact  and  complete,  whereas,  in  English,  the  idea  is  not 
given  time  to  set,  it  is  not  even  half  baked,  and  then  it  is 
shaken  out,  and  falls  to  pieces  as  it  appears  ; or  like  an  ill- 
set  jelly,  resolves  into  an  insipid  wash. 

When  Lord  Lamerton  rose  to  his  feet,  he  proceeded  to 
blow  his  nose  loudly,  then  he  looked  about  him,  and  his 
face  glowed  redly.  He  caught  the  eye  of  the  Rector  of 
Oileigh,  and  he  said  to  himself:  “ Deuce  take  the  fellow, 
he  will  know  whence  I got  this  speech.  He  was  discussing 
the  matter  with  my  lady  the  other  day.” 

He  arranged  his  legs  as  best  he  could  to  support  his 
superincumbent  weight,  and  to  make  quite  sure  of  not 
losing  his  balance  laid  his  hand  on  the  back  of  a chair. 
Then  he  put  the  other  hand  into  his  pocket. 

“ Ladies  and  gentlemen,”  he  began,  “ I am  not  the  sort 
of  man  you  should  have  chosen  to  speak  to  you  to-day, 
because ” 

Interruptions  of  “ No,  no  ! ” 

“ Because,  if  you  allow  me,  I am  not  in  the  best  of 
moods.  I have  had  an  attack,  a damned — I beg  your 
pardon,  a dastardly  atiack  made  on  me  in  the  public 
papers,  and  I have  been — I have  been  represented — that 
is,  represented  as  a monster  of  iniquity,  one  who  is  ruining 
the  country,  and  driving  trade  out  of  it.” 

“No,  no!” 

“ I was  never  more  astonished  and  shocked  in  my  life. 
I did  think,  gentlemen  and  ladies,  that,  if  there  was  one 
thing  I cherished  and  loved,  and  strove  to  live  for,  it  was — 
that  is  to  say — it  was  my  country,  and  next  to  my  country, 
my  dear  old — my  dear  old  mother  country.” 

General  emotion,  and  some  of  the  ladies  who  had  taken 
more  than  two  glasses  of  sherry  felt  the  tears  rise  into  their 
eyes.  Every  gentleman  kindled  and  stamped  and  said, 
“ Hear,  hear  ! ” 


ARMINELL. 


239 


“ But,”  continued  Lord  Lamerton,  re-adjusting  his 
balance,  by  putting  one  foot  between  the  rails  of  the  chair, 
and  the  other  on  the  hat  of  a gentleman,  that  was  on  the  floor 
near  him,  and  removing  his  hand  from  his  trouser  to  his 
waistcoat  pocket,  “ but,  ladies  and  gentlemen,  I will  pass 
from  personal  matters  to  the  subject  in  hand.”  (Then,  to 
himself,  “ Confound  the  rector,  I can  see  by  the  twinkle  of 
his  eye  that  he  knows  what  is  coming.”)  “ But,  ladies  and 
gentlemen,  we  are  here  assembled  on  an  august  and  inter- 
esting occasion,  perhaps  one  of  the  most  august  and  inter- 
esting that  could  have  arisen — I mean,  I mean,  a ploughing- 
match.  And  this  recalls  me  to  the  fact  that  one  of  our 
earliest  English  poets,  William  Langland,  who  lived  in  the 
reign  of  Richard  II.,  wrote  an  entire  poem  on— what  do 
you  suppose  ? Ploughing.  He  entitled  his  poem,  ‘ The 
Vision  of  Piers  the  Ploughman/  And  what  would  you 
think,  gentlemen  and  ladies,  was  the  drift  of  this  remarkable 
composition  ? We  know  that  long  before,  centuries  earlier, 
Virgil  wrote  his  ‘ Georgies/  in  praise  of  agriculture,  but 
here,  our  English  poet  confined  himself  to  one  branch  of 
agriculture,  and  that,  ploughing.  And  the  author  represents 
all  men — mark  me — all  men,  as  ploughmen,  all,  from  the 
king  on  his  throne  and  the  parson  in  the  pulpit,  to  the  least 
among  us  all,  as  ploughmen  set  to  make  our  furrows  in  the 
great  field  of  the  world.  And,  ladies  and  gentlemen,  each 
has  his  own  proper  furrow  to  run,  and  he  may  make  it  well, 
or  make  it  badly,  plough  deep,  or  merely  skirt  the  soil, 
plough  straight,  or  run  a feeble,  fluttering,  irregular  line,  or 
k.e  may  even  fold  his  hands,  and  take  a snooze  in  the  hedge, 
and  make  no  attempt  to  plough.” 

A pause  : the  gentleman  whose  hat  had  been  converted 
into  a footstool  recovered  the  crushed  article  from  under 
the  foot  of  the  speaker,  and  cast  at  him  a melancholy, 
reproachful  glance. 

“ I beg  your  pardon,  ’pon  my  soul,  I did  not  mean  it.  I 


240 


ARMINELL. 


did  not  observe  it.”  This  was  said  aside  to  the  sufferer. 
Then  after  a complete  rearrangement  of  his  attitude,  with 
his  legs  very  wide  apart,  like  that  of  the  Colossus  of  Rhodes, 
Lord  Lamerton  continued,  “ Ladies  and  gentlemen  ! I am 
much  afraid  that  some  of  us — I will  not  say  all — for  I do 
not  believe  it  is  true  of  all — I say  some  of  us,  and  God 
knows,  I include  myself,  on  looking  back  at  our  furrows  do 
not  find  them  as  we  should  have  wished  ; do  not  derive,  I 
mean,  much  satisfaction  in  the  retrospect ; but — but — let 
me  see.  Yes  ! ” He  leaned  both  his  hands  on  the  table, 
so  that  his  back  was  curved,  and  his  position  was  far  from 
elegant.  “ But,  ladies  and  gentlemen,  the  broad  fact 
remains,  that  we  are  all  ploughboys  together,  and  we  must 
take  a lesson  from  these  hearty  good  fellows  we  have  seen 
to-day,  and  in  all  we  do  and  undertake,  make  our  furrows 
straight,  and  drive  them  deep.” 

“ Hear  ! Hear  ! Hear  ! ” and  much  thumping  and  stamp- 
ing ; in  the  midst  of  which  Lord  Lamerton  sat  down,  and 
nearly  missed  his  chair  in  so  doing.  Then  he  leaned  over 
to  the  rector,  and  said,  “All  my  lady’s;  ’pon  my  soul,  all. 
Never  read  a line  of  what’s-his-name  in  my  life.  She  has — 
she  reads  everything.” 

Lord  Lamerton  returned  to  Orleigh  by  an  evening  train. 
The  station  was  at  some  distance  from  his  place.  Only 
when  the  new  line  was  made  would  he  have  a station  near 
at  hand. 

On  reaching  the  Orleigh  road  station,  the  master  told 
him  what  had  occurred  during  his  absence.  His  carriage 
was  in  waiting  outside  to  take  him  home. 

“ Bless  my  heart ! ” exclaimed  his  lordship.  “ You  don’t 
mean  to  tell  me  that  Tubb’s  son  is  dead,  and  that  the  old 
woman  has  not  been  found  ? Here — ” said  he  to  the 
coachman,  “ set  me  down  at  the  Chillacot  turn,  and  drive 
on.  I shall  walk  home,  after  I have  made  enquiries. 
Deuce  take  it ! I wouldn’t  have  had  this  happen  for  all  I 


ARMINELL. 


24I 


am  worth.  Poor  Tubb  ! He  is  a workman  and  will  feel 
the  loss  of  his  son,  though  the  fellow  was  not  good  for 
much — I know  that  I should  be  horribly  cut  up  if  anything 
were  to  happen  to  my  cub.” 

He  threw  himself  into  the  carriage,  and  continued  his 
exclamations  of  distress  and  wonder  how  it  could  have  come 
about.  “ Macduff  must  have  gone  to  work  clumsily.  Bless 
the  man,  he  is  a machine.” 

The  carriage  stopped. 

“ Shall  I attend  you,  my  lord?”  asked  the  footman  at 
the  door,  as  he  held  it. 

“ Attend  me  ! What  for  ? Me  ! Pm  going  to  enquire 
about  the  matter,  then  I shall  go  on  to  Tubb’s  cottage. 
Tell  my  lady  not  to  wait  dinner.” 

He  swung  his  umbrella,  and  walked  away.  He  marched 
to  the  quarry  where  had  been  Patience  Kite’s  cottage.  He 
thought  it  possible  that  some  one  might  still  be  on  the  spot, 
and  that  there  he  would  learn  the  latest,  fullest  and  most 
authentic  particulars.  That  the  old  woman  had  been  seen 
crouched  at  her  hearth,  that  the  chimney  had  fallen  upon 
her,  and  that  she  had  not  been  exhumed  from  the  ruins, 
was  to  him  inexplicable.  When  he  came  out  on  the  clear- 
ing where  the  ruins  of  the  cottage  stood,  Lord  Lamerton 
was  surprised  to  find  it  occupied  by  a crowd.  A lantern 
was  slung  to  one  of  the  principals  of  the  roof,  above  the 
head  of  a speaker  who  occupied  a table  that  had  been 
drawn  out  of  the  cottage.  That  speaker  was  Mr.  James 
Welsh.  Lord  Lamerton  did  not  know  him  by  sight,  only 
by  reputation. 

As  my  lord  appeared  on  the  scene,  those  there  assembled 
shrank  aside,  with  a lo  k of  confusion  and  shyness.  He 
listened  for  a moment  to  the  orator,  and  then  proceeded  to 
push  his  way  through  the  throng,  which  divided  to  allow 
him  to  pass : and,  approaching  the  table,  he  said,  “ I beg 
your  pardon,  sir;  I have  not  the  honour  of  knowing  your 

Q 


242 


ARMINELL. 


name ; but  you  are  making  pretty  free  with  mine.  What  is 
it  all  about  ? ” 

“ You  are  Lord  Lamerton,  I presume  ? ” said  the  orator, 
looking  at  the  dismayed  faces  of  those  within  the  radiance 
of  the  lantern.  “ The  saying  goes  that  listeners  hear  no 
good  of  themselves.  Perhaps  it  may  be  true  in  this  case.” 

“ I have  not  been  listening,  but  I have  caught  a 
sentence  or  two  ; and  I have  no  idea  of  allowing  any  one 
taking  liberties  with  my  name  behind  my  back.  If  you 
have  anything  to  say  about  me,  say  it  to  my  face.  What  is 
all  this  about  ? ” 

“What  is  all  this  about?  ” repeated  the  orator.  “His 
noble  lordship,  the  Right  Honourable  Giles  Inglett,  Baron 
Lamerton,  asks,  What  is  all  this  about  ? ” In  a lower  tone 
charged  with  oratorical  irony,  “ What  is  all  this  about  ? ” 
Mr.  Welsh  looked  round  on  his  audience.  “ Having  shut 
up  his  manganese  mine,  and  reduced  a hundred  men  to 
destitution,  broken  up  their  homes,  obliged  them  to  wander 
over  the  face  of  the  earth  in  quest  of  work,  without  houses 
of  their  own,  without  t)read  to  put  into  the  mouths  of  their 
children,  forced  to  sell  their  poor  sticks  of  furniture  down 
to  the  baby’s  cradle — he  asks,  What  is  all  this  about? 
After  having  torn  down  a house  over  the  head  of  a poor 
widow,  and  bespattered  her  grey  hairs  with  gore,  he  asks, 
What  is  all  this  about  ? After  having  deprived  a father  of 
his  only  child,  and  an  orphan  of  her  mother,  he  has  the 
effrontery — yes — in  the  face  of  his  lordship  I repeat  the 
word,  I repeat  it  in  the  boldness  which  my  righteous  in- 
dignation gives  me — the  effrontery  to  ask,  What  is  all  this 
about  ? Possibly,  when  Cain  saw  his  brother,  his  younger 
brother  Abel,  lying  at  his  feet,  with  fractured  skull  and 
crushed  limbs,  he  also  asked,  What  is  all  this  about?  I 
will  not  pretend  to  know  where  his  lordship  has  been  all 
day  ; but  I do  say  that,  as  an  Englishman,  as  a Christian, 
as  a man,  when  he  was  about  to  render  desolate  the  heart 


ARMINELL. 


243 


of  a father  by  taking  the  life  of  his  only  son,  and  of  a child 
by  bereaving  her  of  her  mother,  when  he  was  about  to  tear 
the  roof  off  from  over  the  head  of  the  widow  and  the 
fatherless,  he  should  have  been  here , yes,  here  and  not  far 
away — Heaven  knows  where — in  what  scene  of  riot  and 
revelry,  into  which  decent  folk  like  us  would  not  venture  to 
look.” 

“ Now  come,”  said  Lord  Lamerton,  “ this  is  all  rubbish. 
I have  been  at  a ploughing  match.  I want  to  know  what 
you  are  doing  here.  Who  the  deuce  are  you  ? ” 

“ My  lord,”  said  the  orator,  “ I am — I rejoice  to  say  it — 
one  of  the  People,  one  of  the  down-trodden  and  ill-treated, 
the  excluded  from  the  good  things  of  life.  My  heart,  my 
lord,  beats  in  the  right  place.  Where  yours  is,  my  lord,  it 
is  not  for  me,  it  is  for  your  own  conscience  to  decide.  But 
mine,  mine — is  in  the  right  place.  I am  one  of  the  people, 
and,  my  lord,  let  me  inform  you  that  when  you  insult  me, 
you  insult  the  entire  people  of  England  ; you  bespatter  not 
me  only,  but  the  whole  of  that  enlightened,  hearty,  in- 
telligent people,  of  whom  I see  so  many  noble,  generous 
specimens  before  me — you  bespatter  them,  I repeat,  my 
lord,  you  bespatter  them  in  the  grossest  and  most  un- 
warranted fashion — with  dirt.” 

“ ’Pon  my  soul,”  interrupted  Lord  Lamerton,  rapping  on 
the  table,  “ I can  make  no  heads  nor  tails  out  of  all  this. 
If  you  have  anything  against  me,  say  it  out.  If  you  want 
anything,  tell  it  me  plainly.  I am  not  unreasonable,  but 
Pm  not  going  to  stand  here  and  listen  to  all  this  rigmarole.” 
“ Perhaps,  my  lord,  you  are  not  aware,  that  there  are 
many  grievances  under  which  the  Public,  the  Public,  my 
lord,  are  groaning.  Shall  I begin  with  the  lighter,  and  pro- 
ceed to  the  graver,  or  reverse  the  process  ? ” 

“ As  you  please.  It  is  one  to  me.” 

“Very  well,”  said  Welsh.  He  looked  round  com- 
placently on  his  audience,  and  rubbed  his  hands.  “ His 


244 


ARMINELL. 


lordship,  in  all  simplicity  of  heart,  wants  to  know  what  oc- 
casion he  has  given  for  this  indignation.  What  occasion,” 
with  a chuckle,  and  those  who  could  see  his  face  and  catch 
his  tone  chuckled  also.  “ What  occasion,”  with  sarcasm, 
and  his  audience  felt  their  gall  rise.  “ What  occasion,’’  in 
a hollow  thrilling  tone,  and  the  crowd  responded  with  a 
groan.  “ Shall  we  tell  his  lordship  ? We  will,  and  we  will 
begin  with  some  of  the  lighter  grievances,  heavy  in  them- 
selves, but  light  in  comparison  with  the  others.  In  the 
first  place,  what  does  he  mean  by  throwing  open  the 
grounds  on  a Tuesday,  a day  when  the  public,  as  he  knows, 
the  hard-working  public  which  needs  relaxation  and  the 
sight  of  the  beautiful,  cannot  enjoy  the  boon  ? Is  that,  I 
ask,  a day  when  the  shops  are  closed  ? Is  it  a day  when 
the  sons  of  toil  in  our  cities  can  get  away  from  their  labours 
and  admire  the  beauties  of  nature,  and  the  charms  of  art  ? 
It  is  not.  The  grounds  are  thrown  open  on  Tuesdays,  with 
almost  fiendish  malevolence,  and  the  cunning  of  the  serpent, 
that  his  lordship  may  obtain  the  credit  of  liberality,  whilst 
doing  nothing  to  deserve  it.  Th$  true  public  are  excluded 
by  the  selection  of  the  day,  but  the  gentle-folks,  the  parsons, 
the  squires,  and  all  the  do-nothings,  to  whom  one  day  is  as 
another,  they  can  see  Orleigh  Park  on  Tuesdays.  If  Lord 
Lamerton  had  in  him  any  true  humanity,  any  sympathy  for 
the  tradesman,  for  the  clerk,  for  the  milliner  and  the  seam- 
stress, he  would  open  on — let  us  say  Saturday.” 

“ Very  well,”  said  Lord  Lamerton,  “ I have  no  objection 
in  the  world,  except  that  it  will  give  the  gardeners  more  to 
do,  picking  up  the  papers  and  scraps — henceforth  the 
grounds  shall  be  open  to  the  public  on  Saturdays.” 

“ But,  my  lord,  are  the  pictures  and  statuary  and  other 
works  of  art  to  be  shown  only  to  the  aristocratic  eye,  and 
are  they  to  be  carefully  kept  within  closed  doors  from  the 
profane  gaze  of  what  you  contemptuously  call — The  Com- 
mon People  ? ” 


ARMINELL. 


245 


“ Not  at  all,”  said  Lord  Lamerton.  “ I will  order  that 
the  state  apartments  be  opened  on  Saturdays — though,  Lord 
knows,  above  a questionable  Van  Dyck,  there  are  no  great 
shakes  in  the  way  of  pictures  there.  Ts  that  all  ? ” 

“ That  is  not  all,”  proceeded  Mr.  James  Welsh.  “ Lord 
Lamerton  innocently — I will  not  say,  sheepishly — asks,  Is 
that  all  ? No,  I reply,  and  I reply  as  the  mouth-piece  of 
all  present,  as  the  shout  of  the  democracy  of  England.  It 
is  not  all.  It  is  very  far  from  being  all.  Is  that  all  ? he 
asks,  standing  before  you,  out  of  whose  mouths  he  has 
snatched  the  crust  of  bread,  the  staff  of  life.  Is  that  all  ? 
When  he  closes  the  manganese  mine,  and  throws  almost 
the  entire  population  of  Orleigh  out  of  employ,  and  scatters 
them  everywhere,  hungry,  homeless,  forlorn.” 

“ Now,  this  a trifle  too  extravagant,”  said  Lord  Lamerton. 
“ The  mine  would  have  gone  under  my  house  and  brought 
it  down.  Why,  it  would  have  cost  me  twenty  thousand 
pounds  to  rebuild  the  house.” 

“ You  hear  that!  Twenty  thousand  pounds  which  might 
have  been  spent  in  Orleigh  is  refused  the  people.  Twenty 
thousand  pounds  ! How  many  able-bodied  men  are  there 
in  Orleigh  ? About  two  hundred.  What  might  you  not 
have  done  with  a hundred  pounds  each  ? What  comforts 
might  you  not  have  provided  yourselves  with  ? But  his 
lordship  buttons  up  his  pockets.  Look  upon  yourselves, 
each  of  you,  as  defrauded  of  a hundred  pounds.  My  lord 
will  bank  his  twenty  thousand.  He  does  not  want  it.  He 
hoards  it.  He  fossilizes  it.  There  is  a fable  about  a dog 
in  the  manger  which  snarled  at  the  horses  that  wanted  to  eat 
out  of  that  manger  which  was  of  no  use  at  all  to  the  hound.” 
Then  Lord  Lamerton  raised  his  voice,  and  said,  “ My 
good  friends,  I don’t  believe  you  are  so  weak  as  to  be 
gulled  by  these  fallacies.  Why  should  I allow  my  house  to 
be  undermined  and  rattled  down  about  my  ears,  if  I can 
help  it  ? ” 


246 


ARMINELL. 


A voice  from  the  throng  shouted,  “ Good  for  trade.” 

“ Some  one  has  said,”  continued  Lord  Lamerton,  “ some 
one  has  remarked  that  it  would  be  good  for  trade.  I dis- 
pute this.  I deny  it  energetically.  I say  that  it  would 
cost  me  twenty  thousand  pounds  to  rebuild  the  place,  but  I 
do  not  say  that — if  ousted  by  the  manganese  mine,  I would 
rebuild  it.  Why  should  I ? If  I built  on  any  rock,  how 
could  I tell  but  that  some  vein  of  metal  would  again  be 
found  under  it,  and  then  I might  be  driven  away  once 
more.  Or  if  I built  on  day,  some  company  might  insist  on 
exploring  the  clay  for  aluminium  ; or  if  I built  on  gravel,  it 
might  be  insisted  on  to  under-dig  me  for  coprolites,  for  the 
formation  of  artificial  manure.  Why,  I say,  should  I risk 
my  twenty  thousand  pounds  when  my  very  foundations  are 
no  security  for  the  outlay  ? I would  say  to  myself : As 
there  is  no  security  any  where,  I will  spend  my  twenty 
thousand  pounds  in  amusing  myself  on  the  Continent,  on 
personal  jewellery — or  God  knows  what  selfish  luxuries. 
Security  of  property,  unassailability  of  right  of  property, 
that  is  the  basis  of  all  prosperity  in  trade.  Touch  property, 
and  down  goes  trade  with  it.  Look  at  the  Jews  in  past 
times.  They  had  no  security,  so  they  hoarded,  and  never 
spent  a farthing  they  could  not  help.  They  did  nothing 
for  trade  with  their  wealth.  Touch  property,  and  no  one 
with  money  will  do  other  than  did  the  Jews.  Touch  pro- 
perty and  down  goes  trade.”  Lord  Lamerton  thumped  the 
table.  “ Now  look  here,  I don’t  want  to  be  hard  on  any 
one.  I have  lost  a great  deal  of  money  already  on  the 
manganese,  which  has  not  paid  for  these  five  years,  but  has 
been  worked  at  a dead  loss.  I don’t  see  my  way  to  lose 
more,  and  to  endanger,  moreover,  the  walls  of  my  house. 
That  is  plain  sense.  But  as  I say,  I won’t  be  hard  on  any 
one.  If  the  miners  cannot  get  work  elsewhere,  I’ll  set 
them  road- making.  They  can  cut  a new  road  as  soon  as 
ever  it  is  settled  where  the  station  is  to  be,  and  hedge  and 


ARMINELL.  247 

stone  it.  That  will  cost  me  a thousand  pounds,  if  it  will 
cost  me  a penny.” 

“Just  listen  to  this  proposal,”  shouted  Welsh,  who  found 
that  the  plain  sense  of  Lord  Lamerton  was  producing  some 
effect.  “ You  hear  his  lordship’s  magnanimous  offer.  He 
will  take  you  honest,  hearty,  active  mining  fellows  and 
debase  you  to  stone-breakers  by  a road-side.  He  has  had 
such  experience  in  heart-breaking,  that  he  thinks  to  set  you 
a job  that  commends  itself  to  his  fancy — stone-breaking. 
But  let  us  pass  from  this.  I have  not  done  with  my  nobl  * 
lord  yet.  Not  by  any  means.  The  last  of  his  misdeeds  is 
not  yet  quite  exhausted.  I want  to  ask  the  Right  Honour- 
able Baron  Lamerton  how  it  is  that  he  is  so  sensitive  about 
the  tumbling  down  of  his  own  house,  and  so  ready  by  the 
hands  of  his  Macduffs  and  other  minions  to  tear  down  the 
walls  of  the  widow’s  cottage  ? I ask  him  that.  See — he  is 
confounded,  he  cannot  answer.”  Welsh  looked  round 
triumphantly.  “ Nor  is  that  all,”  he  pursued  ; “ I have 
another  question  to  put,  to  which  also,  I have  no  doubt,  I 
shall  meet  with  silence  only  as  an  answer.  His  lordship 
who  is  so  touchy  about  the  rights  of  property  is,  I suspect, 
only  touchy  about  the  rights  of  his  own  property.  I have 
it  on  the  best  possible  authority  that  he  is  threatening  to 
dispossess  a man  whom  we  all  esteem,  Captain  Saltren,  to 
dispossess  him  of  his  house  and  land,  a house  built  by  his 
father  and  repaired  and  beautified  by  himself.  I believe  I 
am  not  wrong  in  saying  that  he  has  threatened  to  employ 
law  against  our  valued  friend,  Captain  Saltren.” 

A cry  of  “ Shame,  shame  ! ” 

“ Yes,”  pursued  the  orator,  “it  is  shame.  What  was  that 
his  lordship  said  just  now  about  rights  of  property  ? Touch 
property,  he  insisted,  and  down  goes  trade.  Who  is  touch- 
ing property  ? Who  but  he  ? Who  lays  his  envious  grasp 
— he,  Ahab,  on  the  vineyard  of  the  poor  Naboth.” 

Then  the  orator  jumped  off  the  table,  and  in  a changed 


248 


ARMINELL. 


tone  said  to  Lord  Lamerton,  “ I must  be  off  and  report 
this  meeting.  I’ve  a train  to  catch.  Give  you  a leader  on 
it,  old  cock.  No  offence  meant;  none  I hope  taken. 
Both  of  us  men  of  the  world,  and  know  how  to  live  by  it. 
I know  as  well  as  you  what  is  gammon,  but  gammon  is  the 
staple  diet  of  the  chawbacon.  Give  us  your  hand.”  He 
nudged  the  nobleman  in  the  side.  “ Bamboozled,  my  lord, 
eh  ? lam  James  Welsh.  Pretty  considerably  bamboozled, 
eh?* 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 


DUMFOUNDERED. 

When  James  Welsh  sprang  from  the  table,  and  held  out 
his  hand,  Lord  Lamerton  was  in  that  condition  of  bam- 
boozlement that  he  did  not  know  what  to  do,  whether  to 
mount  the  table  and  address  the  audience,  or  to  walk  away  ; 
whether  to  accept  the  proffered  hand,  or  to  refuse  it.  He 
felt  as  does  a boy  who  has  been  blindfolded  and  set  in  the 
midst  of  a room  to  he  spun  about,  struck,  and  bidden 
catch  his  persecutors,  but  who  finds  himself  unable  to  touch 
one. 

Whatsoever  he  said  was  caught  from  his  lips  and  con- 
verted into  a fresh  charge  against  him  : every  kindness  he 
proposed  was  perverted  into  an  act  of  barbarity. 

And  then — after  he  had  been  thus  treated,  his  persecutor 
bounced  down  before  him,  and  in  the  most  cheery  tone  in 
the  world,  declared  that  no  offence  was  intended,  asked  him 
if  he  were  bamboozled,  and  invited  him  to  shake  hands. 
Lord  Lamerton  was  no  match  for  his  assailant.  He  was 
not  a ready  man.  When  he  had  been  primed  by  his  wife, 
or  after  laborious  preparation,  he  was  able  to  produce  the 
collected  matter,  but  neither  smoothly  nor  naturally.  His 
sentences  came  from  him  as  liquid  issues  from  a barrel  un- 
provided with  a vent.  They  flowed  for  a while,  then 
stopped,  and  a gulp  ensued  ; after  that  a drop  or  twro  ; 
another  gulp,  and  then  a rush  of  words  forming  a sentence, 


250 


ARMINELL. 


or,  more  probably,  a sentence  and  a half.  An  interruption 
confused  Lord  Lamerton,  a question  silenced  him.  He 
was  deficient  in  precisely  those  qualities  which  Mr.  Welsh 
possessed  in  perfection  —ready  wit,  assurance,  bluntness  of 
feeling,  qualities  essential  to  the  successful  orator.  Welsh 
knew  exactly  how  to  keep  in  touch  with  his  audience,  he 
could  gauge  their  ignorance  at  a glance,  and  would  always 
accommodate  himself  to  their  capacity.  He  had  unbounded 
audacity,  because  utterly  without  scruple  ; he  had  smartness, 
and  skill  in  parrying. 

Lord  Lamerton  stood  back.  The  night  was  not  dark, 
but  the  trees  cast  shadows  about  the  glade  where  the  meet- 
ing was  held,  and  the  lantern  cast  but  a feeble  light.  His 
movements  could  be  seen  only  by  those  who  were  close  to 
him,  and  in  his  condition  of  bamboozlement,  he  was  glad 
to  take  advantage  of  the  opening  made  in  the  throng  by 
Welsh,  to  follow  and  place  himself  outside  the  crowd.  He 
did  not  leave  altogether ; he  remained  to  see  what  would 
follow,  and  to  gather  together  his  scattered  senses.  He 
leaned  against  the  bole  of  a Scotch  pine,  and  looked  on  un- 
observed. Those  who  had  noticed  that  he  had  passed 
through  concluded  that  he  had  left  entirely. 

“ What  a thing  it  is,”  muttered  Lord  Lamerton,  “ to  have 
the  gift  of  assurance.  That  fellow  was  all  in  the  wrong,  and 
I was  all  in  the  right,  but  I could  not  explain  my  right,  and 
he  was  able  to  make  all  I said  seem  wrong.  Ton  my  soul, 
I don’t  believe  that  he  was  in  earnest,  and  believed  in  w.hat 
he  said.  I couldn’t  do  that,  God  bless  me  ! I couldn’t  do 
that  and  look  my  lady  in  the  face  again.” 

Suddenly  Captain  Saltren  appeared  on  the  table  vacated 
by  Welsh.  He  looked  more  gaunt,  hollow-eyed  and  pale 
than  usual,  but  this  may  have  been  the  effect  of  the  lantern- 
light  falling  from  above  on  his  prominent  features.  The 
moment  he  appeared  he  was  greeted  with  clapping  of  hands 
and  cheers. 


ARMINELL. 


As  Lord  Lamerton  looked  on,  he  thought  the  scene  was 
strangely  picturesque,  it  was  like  a meeting  of  old  Scotch 
Covenanters.  To  the  north,  the  sky  was  full  of  twilight, 
but  black  clouds  drove  over  it,  flying  rapidly,  though  little 
wind  was  perceptible  below.  Against  the  silvery  light  rose 
the  well-wooded  hill  with  spires  of  pine,  and  larch,  and 
spruce,  like  one  of  those  fantastic  prospects  of  a mediaeval 
city  in  Dore’s  night  pictures.  In  front  was  the  ruined 
cottage  with  the  yellow  lantern,  suspended  from  a projecting 
beam,  and  in  its  radiance  the  form  of  the  mining  captain  as 
wild  as  the  surroundings.  Between  the  looker-on  and  the 
table  were  the  figures  of  men,  boys,  and  some  women, 
partially  illumined  by  the  pale  twilight  from  above,  partially 
by  the  yellow  halo  of  the  lantern.  Now  and  then  a match 
was  struck,  as  a man  lit  his  pipe,  and  then,  there  was  a 
flare,  and  the  heads  that  intervened  were  distinctly  seen, 
black  against  the  momentary  flash. 

Saltren  looked  from  side  to  side,  and  waved  his  arms. 
As  he  did  so,  the  fingers  of  his  right  hand  came  within  the 
direct  rays  of  the  lantern,  and  were  seen  quivering  and  in 
movement  as  though  he  were  engaged  in  playing  a piece  of 
rapid  music  on  an  unseen  instrument.  And  in  truth,  he 
was  so  doing,  and  doing  it  unconsciously.  From  these 
long,  thin,  thrilling  fingers,  invisible  threads  attached  them- 
selves to  the  nerves  of  those  who  stood  before  him,  and  be- 
fore he  spoke,  before  he  opened  his  mouth,  a magic,  alto- 
gether marvellous  accord  was  established  between  him  and 
those  who  surrounded  him.  It  is  told  of  St.  Anthony  of 
Padua  that  he  was  once  asked  to  preach  to  an  audience 
whose  tongue  he  could  not  speak,  and  who  understood  not 
a word  of  Italian.  He  went  up  into  the  pulpit,  looked 
round,  and  all  in  the  church  went  into  paroxysms  of.  con- 
trition and  tears,  and — he  had  net  said  a word.  The  secret 
of  this  power  is  intensity  of  conviction  and  absolute  sincerity. 
Saltren  was  convinced  and  sincere.  The  look  of  his  face, 


252 


ARMINELL. 


the  agitation  of  his  limbs,  the  convulsive  movements  of  his 
lips  all  proclaimed  his  sincerity. 

The  captain,  moreover,  was  known  to  all  those  who  now 
looked  up  to  him,  known  as  a man  of  probity,  true  in  all  he 
said  and  just  in  all  he  did,  a blameless  man.  But  though 
his  blamelessness  commanded  respect,  there  was  in  him 
something  beyond  the  blamelessness  that  commanded  re- 
spect ; and  that  something  was  his  spirituality.  Men  felt 
and  acknowledged  that  there  existed  in  him  a mysterious 
link  with  the  unseen  world.  All,  even  the  dullest,  were 
aware,  when  speaking  with  Captain  Saltren,  that  they  were 
in  the  presence  of  a man  who  lived  in  two  worlds,  and 
principally  in  that  which  was  supersensual  and  immaterial. 
He  impressed  the  people  of  Orleigh — as  did  Patience  Kite 
— with  awe.  These  two  belonged  to  the  same  category  of 
beings  who  lived  in  an  atmosphere  of  the  supernatural ; the 
captain  talked  with  angels,  and  Patience  Kite  with,  perhaps, 
devils.  The  influence  exerted  was  not  confined  to  the 
ignorant,  it  extended  to  those  who  were  partially  educated  ; 
perhaps  he  influenced  these  latter  even  more  than  the 
former.  In  the  general  flux  and  disintegration  of  belief, 
those  who  were  most  aware  of  the  debacle  clung  most 
tenaciously  to  the  skirts  of  such  who  still  remained  con- 
vinced. Now  Mrs.  Kite,  however  sceptical  she  might  be 
in  religious  matters,  had  no  doubt  whatever  in  her  own 
powers,  and  Captain  Saltren  was  profoundly  rooted  in  his 
own  convictions,  and  this  was  the  source  of  the  strength  of 
both. 

As  he  stood  on  the  table,  his  limbs  trembled  as  though 
he  were  stricken  with  the  ague,  his  mouth  quivered,  sweat 
streamed  from,  his  face.  He  could  not  speak,  emotion 
overpowered  him.  He  waved  his  hands,  and  his  fingers 
clutched  at  the  air,  and  he  looked  nervously  from  side  to 
side. 

A woman  screamed,  fell  on  her  knees,  and  shrieked  for 


ARMINELL. 


253 


mercy.  She  thought  she  was  at  a revivalist  meeting,  and 
the  movement  of  Saltren’s  hands  had  caught  every  nerve  in 
her  head  and  had  drawn  together  and  knotted  them,  so  that 
she  shrieked  with  the  tension  insupportable. 

“My  friends  and  fellow  sufferers/’  began  Saltren.  The 
cry  of  the  woman  had  unloosed  his  tongue,  for  it  proclaimed 
that  sympathy  was  established  between  him  and  his 
hearers.  “ I have  doubted  ” — he  spoke  slowly,  in  a low 
tone,  with  tremor  in  his  tones,  and  with  diffidence — “ I have 
doubted  whether  I should  address  you  or  not.  I do  not 
desire  to  speak.  I am  held  back,  and  yet  I am  thrust  on. 
I am  like  an  anchored  vessel  with  the  sails  spread  and  the 
wind  filling  them.  The  anchor  must  part,  or  the  sails  be 
torn  to  shreds.  The  anchor  is  in  the  earth,  the  breath  of 
heaven  is  in  the  sails.  I know  which  ought  to  go.  But 
there  is  strain — great  strain ; ” he  paused  and  passed  his 
hand  over  his  face,  and  it  came  away  dripping  with 
moisture.  “ I have  no  natural  gift.  1 am  fearful  of  my- 
self. I cannot  speak  as  did  James  Welsh.  I am  no 
scholar.  I am  an  ignorant  man.  But  so  were  the 

apostles,  taken  from  their  nets,  and  so  was  Levi  taken  from 
the  receipt  of  custom.  So  was  Elisha,  drawn  from  the 
plough.  I hang  back.  I can  say  with  David,  my  heart  is 
not  haughty,  nor  mine  eyes  lofty.  Surely  I have  behaved 
and  quieted  myself  as  a child  that  is  weaned  of  his 
mother.” 

Then  the  woman,  kneeling,  began  again  to  scream, 
“ Lord,  have  mercy  ! have  mercy  ! ” and  her  cries  assisted 
in  thrilling  and  exciting  the  speaker  and  people  alike. 
Some  of  the  audience  began  to  groan  and  sigh.  One 
young  bumpkin  from  behind  called  out,  “ We  don’t  want  no 
sarmon.  If  you’re  going  to  preach,  I’m  off.”  Then  ensued 
a commotion  ; heads  were  turned,  exclamations  of  anger 
and  disgust  greeted  the  interruption,  and  the  lad  was 
hustled  away. 


254 


ARMINELL. 


Saltren  resumed  his  speech,  when  the  interruption  was 
over  and  quiet  restored. 

“ I am,”  he  said,  “ a quiet  man.  I keep  to  myself  and 
to  my  own  concerns.  So  was  Gideon  a quiet  man,  keeping 
to  himself  and  his  farm.  But  the  spirit  of  prophecy  came 
on  him,  and  he  was  summoned  to  lead  the  people  against 
Midian,  and  to  smite  the  enemy  hip  and  thigh,  and  utterly 
to  destroy  them.”  The  tones  of  his  voice  became  firmer 
and  deeper.  His  hearers  trembled  as  he  trembled,  and 
their  hearts  quivered  with  every  vibration  of  his  voice. 

Lord  Lamerton  listened  with  amazement.  He  and  that 
plough  boy  who  had  called  out  in  mockery  were  the  only 
two  in  that  assembly  who  had  not  fallen  under  the  in- 
fluence of  the  orator,  one  because  he  was  cultivated  beyond 
its  reach,  the  other  because  he  was  spiritually  sunk  beneath 
it. 

The  clouds  had  now  formed  a black  canopy  overhead, 
and  as  a pause  ensued  in  the  address  of  Saltren,  the  rush  of 
the  wind  could  be  heard  in  the  tree-tops. 

“There  was  neither  sword  nor  spear  found  among  the 
Israelites,”  continued  Saltren,  “and  yet  they  overthrew 
their  enemies,  and  the  way  was  scattered  with  their  gar- 
ments and  weapons  as  far  as  Jordan.  I am  an  ignorant  and 
a foolish  man,  and  yet  I am  sent  to  you  commissioned 
from  above.  I cannot  forbear,  for  I am  driven  on.  Moses 
was  in  favour  with  the  Egyptians,  and  yet  he  threw  away 
his  advantages  because  of  the  sighing  and  the  groaning  of 
his  people.  I have  had  no  favour  with  the  Egyptians,  but 
I have  been  sent  to  lead  Israel  out  of  captivity.  I would 
keep  silence,  but  I may  not.  I have  had  a call  as  had 
Jonah,  and  if  I try  like  him  to  fly,  I shall  be  brought  hack. 
I must  deliver  my  message.  If  I were  sunk  in  the  sea,  the 
sea  would  throw  me  up.  If  I were  covered  by  the 
mountains  falling,  I should  come  forth  to  proclaim  the 
message.  That  is  why  I stand  here  before  you.  I have 


ARMINELL. 


255 


wrestled  with  myself.  I have  shrunk  from  declaring  what 
I have  seen  and  heard,  but  if  I were  to  hold  my  peace,  I 
should  be  broken  as  a rotten  branch,  and  be  consumed  in 
the  fire.  Therefore  I must  speak.  ” 

He  paused  and  drew  a long  breath,  and  again  wiped  his 
brow.  All  the  audience  drew  a long  breath  with  him. 
Overhead  the  wind  muttered  and  puffed,  and  along  the 
horizon  at  the  back  the  dark  spires  bent  and  righted  them- 
selves. 

“I  was  in  the  spirit  on  the  Lord’s  day,”  said  Sattren,  and 
at  once,  as  he  said  the  words,  the  man  was  changed.  His 
tremors  ceased,  his  knees  no  longer  shook,  he  stood  firm 
with  head  erect,  and  with  a face  as  that  of  a frozen  man  and 
his  hands  clasped  before  his  breast. 

“ T was  in  the  spirit  on  the  Lord’s  dav,”  he  repeated. 
“ I was  here,  hard  by,  down  by  the  water — no,  on  the 
water,  in  the  old  quarry,  engaged  in  prayer.  Then,  sud- 
denly, I saw  a light  from  heaven  above  the  brightness  of  the 
sun,  and  I was  as  one  dazzled  and  in  a trance ; and  I heard 
a voice,  like  the  voice  of  a trumpet  calling  to  me,  and  say- 
ing, Saltren,  Saltren,  Saltren  ! Then,  before  I could 
answer,  I saw  an  angel  flying  in  the  midst  of  heaven,  having 
a little  book  in  his  hand,  and  he  held  it  aloft,  and  cried, 

‘ This  is  the  Book  of  the  Everlasting  Gospel,  this  is  the 
truth  hid  from  the  earth  for  ten  thousand  years,  and  now  at 
length  revealed  unto  men.’  Then  I cried,  Give  me  the 
book.  And  the  angel  cast  it  down,  and  said,  ‘ This  is  the 
Everlasting  Gospel,  all  men  are  equal,  all  are  the  sons  of 
the  one  Adam,  and  are  children  of  one  family.  There 
shall  be  no  more  rich  and  poor,  noble  and  common ; ail 
shall  be  equal,  and  so  all  shall  be  one.’” 

Then  some  of  those  who  heard,  carried  away  by  their 
emotions,  began  to  leap  and  hold  up  their  hands,  and  cry, 
“ Glory,  Allelulia  ! ” and  the  woman  on  her  knees  was 
\oined  by  others  who  united  in  cries  for  mercy.  For  a few 


256 


ARMINELL. 


moments  a whirlwind  of  groans  and  exclamations  and 
general  commotion  swept  over  the  assembly,  and  as 
suddenly  died  away  again. 

“ Then,”  continued  Saltren,  “ Then  the  angel  cast  down 
the  book,  and  it  fell  into  the  water,  but  as  it  fell  I read 
thereon  the  title,  * The  Gilded  Clique.  And  what,  I ask,  is 
the  gilded  clique,  which,  like  a sponge,  sucks  in  all  the 
wealth  of  the  country  and  gives  nothing  back  ? What  is  the 
gilded  clique  which  claims  to  itself  nobility  and  gentility, 
and  calls  us  common  and  unclean  ? What  is  the  gilded 
clique  which  sits  alone,  firm  on  its  strong  foundations  struck 
in  the  earth,  and  drives  us  from  place  to  place  in  search  of 
work  and  food  ? Which  denies  to  all  but  itself  sure  and 
lasting  homes,  and  a certain  future?  What  is  the  gilded 
clique  which  carries  corruption  into  our  families,  and 
blights  the  land  with  its  vices  ? The  gilded  clique  ! Such 
are  they.  A handful  of  dirt ! Such  are  we.  But  where 
are  truth  and  righteousness,  diligence  and  honesty  to  be 
found?  Among  them?  In  the  gilded  clique?  or  among 
us,  in  the  handful  of  dirt  ? The  day  of  reckoning  is  ap- 
proaching, already  has  one  seal  of  the  seven  been  un- 
clasped, and  I have  read  what  it  is  to  be,  and  what  I have 
read,  that  must  I proclaim.  As  I wrestle  night  and  day  in 
prayer,  more  and  more  of  the  contents  of  the  book  are 
disclosed  to  me.  When  it  fell  from  heaven,  I saw  only  the 
cover  and  what  was  thereon,  but  since  then,  when  I am  in 
prayer,  I am  shown  the  book  and  the  seals,  and  one  after 
another  is  unclosed  and  I read  further.  Time  will  reveal 
what  is  now  hidden  from  your  eyes.  Only  have  confidence, 
and  look  forward.” 

As  Saltren  talked,  he  worked  himself  out  of  the  constraint 
with  which  he  had  begun,  and  he  spoke  easily,  fluently,  as 
one  inspired,  speaking  with  authority  ; and  his  action  as  he 
addressed  the  audience  was  dignified,  serious  and  easy. 
His  voice  was  full,  deep  and  sonorous,  and  his  eye  flashed 


ARMINELL. 


257 


with  conscious  power.  Whilst  he  was  speaking,  a few 
drops  of  rain  began  to  fall,  large  and  warm ; and  the  sky 
overhead  was  black  with  cloud.  Behind,  in  the  ruined 
cottage,  strange,  spectral,  blue  flashing  lights  began  to 
play,  seen  at  first  on  the  threshold,  then  on  the  hearth,  and 
then  dancing  from  one  end  to  another  of  the  hovel.  The 
course  of  the  flame  could  not  be  traced  by  those  without, 
because  the  walls  intervened,  but  it  was  seen  quivering  at 
the  broken  doorway,  and  then  through  the  shattered 
window. 

Those  who  stood  near  the  cottage,  shrank  from  it,  cowering 
back,  pressing  on  those  behind,  leaving  a space  between  them 
and  the  table,  and  the  house  where  these  ghostly  lights  moved 
about.  Saltren  alone  was  unconscious  of  what  passed  in  the 
ruin,  for  his  back  was  to  it. 

“ We  have  our  misery  brought  home  to  us,”  he  continued. 
“ Why  are  we  thrown  out-  of  work  ? Why  am  I threatened 
with  having  my  house  taken  from  me  ? Why  is  this  cottage 
torn  down,  and  the  stones  cast  upon  an  innocent  man  to 
crush  the  life  out  of  him  : The  Lord  has  suffered  all  this 

to  come  upon  us  at  once,  so  as  to  rouse  us  to  a knowledge 
of  the  truth  revealed  to  me  that  ail  are  equal,  and  in  our 
equality  are  one and  that  the  time  has  arrived  when  the 
poor  are  to  rise  and  put  their  feet  on  the  necks  of  their 
oppressors.  I saw  on  the  cover  of  that  book  which  de- 
scended to  me  from  above  the  clouds,  the  head  of  a man, 
and  the  cover  was  red  with  blood,  and  I saw  how  that  that 
man  was  handed  over  first  to  destruction,  the  first  among 
many ; and  I know  how  that  the  heads  of  those  predestined 
to  destruction  will  appear  in  order,  one  after  another,  on 
the  cover  of  the  book,  as  the  sentence  goes  forth  against 
each.  He  who  comes  first  is  the  chief  offender,  he  who 
has  caused  so  much  woe,  he  who  has  destroyed  the  peace 
of  homes,  that  one — ” 

A shout  of  “ Name,  name  1 99 

R 


258 


ARMINELL. 


Then,  suddenly,  from  within  the  ruin  flared  up  a vivid 
conflagration,  golden  yellow,  so  brilliant  as  to  light  up  the 
faces  of  all  present  turned  to  the  speaker,  and  convert  every 
leaf  of  every  tree  into  a flake  of  gold. 

Women  shrieked,  then  were  instantaneously  hushed, 
hushed  as  in  death,  for,  standing  on  the  table  behind 
Saltren,  they  saw  Patience  Kite,  wild,  ragged,  with  her  hair 
about  her  shoulders,  and  an  arm  extended,  pointing.  Saltren, 
also,  by  the  vivid  glare,  saw  Lord  Lamerton  under  the  Scotch 
fir,  his  face  catching  full  the  reflection,  as  if  illumined  by 
the  sun. 

“Do  you  ask  his  name?”  he  shouted.  “He  is  there.” 
He  also  pointed,  and  all  the  while  was  unconscious  that  the 
wild  woman  near  him  was  indicating  the  same  man. 

Then  the  whole  assembly  turned  to  look,  and  for  a moment 
saw  Lord  Lamerton. 

For  a moment  only,  for  the  flame  fell,  and  cries,  piercing, 
thrilling  every  nerve,  distracted  the  attention  of  the  crowd. 
A woman  had  fallen  in  convulsions  on  the  ground,  declaring 
that  she  had  seen  the  Devil. 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 


FLOUTED. 

Lord  Lamerton  put  his  hand  to  his  head — he  could  not 
have  spoken  if  addressed,  he  was  dumfoundered.  After  the 
assault  delivered  by  James  Welsh,  he  might  possibly  have 
blundered  through  some  sort  of  self-exculpation,  but  the 
attack  of  Captain  Saltren  was  so  amazing,  so  unexpected, 
so  different  in  kind  from  anything  against  which  he  was 
armed,  that  he  could  not  speak,  could  not  utter  a syllable. 

He  was  all  at  once  caught  by  the  arm,  and  saw  the  faces 
of  Jingles  and  Arminell. 

“ My  lord,”  said  young  Saltren,  hastily,  “ you  must  not 
stay  here.  The  people  are  incensed,  and  may  do  you  an 
injury.” 

Lord  Lamerton  looked  from  the  tutor  to  his  daughter, 
and  then  back  again.  What  had  brought  him  there  ? Why 
had  Arminell  thus  acted  in  disobedience  to  his  wishes,  and 
against  common  decorum?  But  he  said  nothing,  he  was 
struck  dumb.  The  world  was  turned  upside  down,  and 
those  who  had  stood  on  their  feet  were  now  on  their  heads. 

Young  Saltren  took  his  arm,  and  he  allowed  himself  to 
be  led  away. 

He  did  not  recover  at  once  from  his  bewilderment  He 
was  as  a man  stunned.  What  he  had  experienced  that 
night  was  unlike  any  other  experience  he  had  gone  through. 
A sense  of  helplessness  momentarily  came  upon  him,  of 


26o 


ARMINELL. 


inability  to  resist  the  forces  of  fanaticism,  unscrupulous 
partisanship,  superstition  and  prejudice  gathered  against 
him.  He  could  neither  descend  to  the  personalities  and 
dishonesties  of  Welsh,  nor  climb  to  the  fantastic  extrava- 
gance of  Saltren. 

Like  a plain  Englishman  he  liked  to  fight  face  to  face 
with  his  antagonist  on  open  ground,  and  on  a level,  to  hit 
straight  before  him,  and  give  hard  blows ; but  he  was  taken 
in  flank,  and  bewildered  among  the  tortuous  defiles  into 
which  he  was  drawn  by  Welsh,  and  unable  to  touch  Saltren 
who  menaced  him  from  aerial  heights. 

There  are  two  sorts  of  culture,  as  there  are  two  eyes  and 
two  ears,  and  two  hands,  and  two  feet  to  every  man,  and 
two  poles  to  the  globe,  and  two  lights  to  rule  the  day  and 
night.  But  these  two  cultures  are  very  different  in  their 
effects. 

The  man  without  intellectual  culture  has  strong  opinions, 
is  rugged  and  angular,  and  is  unable  to  conceive  of  the 
possibility  of  any  qualifications  to  what  he  holds  as  the 
truth.  As  he  becomes  cultivated,  he  is  cut  into  more  facets, 
and  rubbed  down,  and  still  further  culture  makes  the  angles 
obtuse  and  multiplies  the  facets  till  finally  he  loses  all  angles, 
and  becomes  a globe.  Friction  among  his  fellowmen  has 
rubbed  away  every  sharpness  of  opinion,  till  with  perfect 
culture  he  ceases  to  have  any  opinions  at  all.  Let  us  put 
the  same  fact  in  another  way.  The  rude  man  comes  out  of 
the  dye-vat  intense  in  the  colour  of  his  opinions,  but  every 
dip  he  gets  in  mixed  society  runs  some  of  his  colour  out  of 
him,  and  after  having  been  plunged  a good  many  times  in 
the  social  wash-tub  he  ceases  to  have  any  distinguishable 
colour  whatever.  Intellectual  culture  makes  a man  moderate 
and  tolerant,  because  he  becomes  indifferent. 

Moral  culture  has  an  opposite  effect.  The  uncultivated 
moral  faculty  is  dull,  and  blunt  to  discriminate  between 
right  and  wrong ; the  moral  palate  requires  training,  for  by 


ARMINELL. 


26l 


nature  it  tastes  only  what  is  crude,  and  distinguishes  sharp 
extremes.  The  discipline  of  life,  many  a painful  experience, 
and  some  humiliation,  serve  to  train  the  moral  faculty  to 
nice  distinction,  and  teach  it  to  shrink  from  the  smallest 
sources  of  falsehood,  to  avoid  the  rank  and  gross,  and  to 
acquire  the  strictest  love  of  justice.  It  learns  to  enjoy  the 
soft  velvety  port,  and  to  pass  the  brandied  logwood  un- 
touched. 

Lord  Lamerton  was  a man  of  double  culture.  He  was 
not  a man  of  brains,  but  he  was  thoroughly  scrupulous  and 
honourable,  eminently  a fair  man,  and  essentially  truthful. 
As  such  he  was  incapable  of  meeting  Welsh.  His  moral 
culture  had  disarmed  him  for  such  a combat.  He  was  like 
a man  called  to  duel,  handling  a polished  rapier,  and  en- 
gaged with  an  antagonist  armed  with  a revolver.  On  the 
other  hand,  his  intellectual  culture  incapacitated  him  from 
meeting  Captain  Saltren.  Such  a craze  as  that  of  his  about 
a vision  of  an  angel  bearing  the  Everlasting  Gospel  was  a 
craze  and  nothing  more,  undeserving  of  being  argued  about, 
entitling  the  holder  to  a cell  in  Bedlam. 

Political  unscrupulousness  and  fanatical  unreason  were 
united  against  him,  and  although  he  was  aware  tht.t  they 
were  powerless  to  injure  him,  still  they  might  cause  him 
considerable  annoyance.  It  is  never  pleasant  to  be  on  bad 
terms  with  neighbours,  however  removed  from  them  one 
may  be  in  class  and  fortune.  It  is  like  living  in  a land 
haunted  by  malaria.  You  are  safe  on  your  toft  of  high 
land,  and  look  down  on  the  vaporous  and  poisonous  region 
below,  but  it  hems  you  in,  it  interferes  with  your  independ- 
ence, you  have  to  reckon  upon  it,  and  avoid  it.  To  Lord 
Lamerton  it  was  intolerable  to  be  on  other  terms  than  the 
best  with  every  one,  and  he  was  ruffled  and  hurt  by  lack  of 
cordiality  and  want  of  reciprocity. 

How  could  he  bring  these  misguided  people  to  their 
senses  ? It  would  not  do  for  him  to  send  Macduff  among 


262 


ARMINELL. 


them.  Macduff  was  a Scotchman,  and  did  not  understand 
the  ways  of  thought  of  the  Southerners.  He  was  himself 
unable  to  do  anything.  He  put  his  hand  to  his  head — he 
was  utterly  dumfoundered. 

All  this  while  he  was  walking  away,  led  by  the  tutor,  and 
had  his  daughter  on  the  other  side  of  him. 

Then,  abruptly,  Lord  Lamerton  asked,  “ How  long  have 
you  been  listening  to  that — to — I mean — him  ? ” 

“ O,  papa,  we  have  only  just  arrived,  as  dinner  is  over,” 
answered  Arminell.  “ I heard  from  Mr.  Saltren  that  there 
was  to  be  a meeting  of  protest  at  the  ruined  cottage,  and  I 
persuaded  him  to  accompany  me  to  it.  But  we  came  late — 
and  now  the  rain  has  begun  to  pour  down,  it  will  disperse 
the  assembly.” 

“ Did  you  know  I was  here  ? ” 

“No — I heard  you  had  walked  on  to  Captain  Tubb’s 
house  to  make  enquiries.” 

Lord  Lamerton  disengaged  his  arm  from  that  of  Jingles, 
who  still  held  it,  and  said,  “ Mr.  Saltren,  your  way  lies  to 
Chillacot.  You  are  no  doubt  going  to  your  father,  and  will 
be  glad  to  remain  with  him.  1 will  give  orders  that  your 
clothes  and  other  possessions  be  removed  to-morrow. 
Things  necessary  for  the  night  shall  be  sent  at  once.” 

“ My  lord  ! ” 

“ I wish  you  a very  good  evening,  Mr.  Saltren,  and  a 
good-bye.” 

Then  Lord  Lamerton  took  his  daughter's  arm,  and  walked 
hastily  away.  The  rain  was  beginning  to  fall  heavily. 

He  said  nothing  more  for  some  distance,  and  Arminell 
remained  silent.  But  when  the  park  gates  were  reached, 
he  spoke,  and  his  voice  shook  as  he  did  so. 

“ Arminell,  this  is  too  bad,  this  is  direct  and  deliberate 
revolt.  It  is  not  enough  for  me  to  be  attacked  from  without, 
but  I must  encounter  treason  in  the  camp.” 

“ I will  not  pretend  to  misunderstand  you,  papi ,”  said 


ARMINELL.  263 

Arminell.  “ You  are  annoyed  at  my  coming  out  at  night 
with  Mr.  Saltren — with  Giles  senior.” 

“ Arminell ! ” 

“I  am  sorry  to  have  caused  you  annoyance,  but,  papa, 
in  the  first  place  I was  desirous  of  seeing  the  meeting, 
and  hearing  what  was  said  at  it,  and  of  judging  for  my- 
self.” 

“Of  hearing  your  own  father  abused,  insulted  and  de- 
nounced.” 

“Not  exactly  that,  papa;  but  surely  there  is  wrong  on 
both  sides.” 

“And  you  constituted  yourself  judge  over  your  father  !” 

“ No,  papa,  I wished  to  hear  what  was  said,  and  I asked — 
you  know  whom  I mean — to  come  with  me.  It  may  pos- 
sibly have  been  indiscreet.” 

“ Not  merely  indiscreet,  but  wrong,  for  it  was  an  act  of 
deliberate,  wilful  disobedience  to  the  wishes  of  your  father, 
plainly  expressed.” 

“ I do  not  wish  to  vex  and  disobey  you,  papa,  but  I will 
exercise  my  independence  and  judgment.  I cannot  allow 
myself  to  be  cooped  in  the  cage  of  proprieties.  I must  see 
what  is  going  on,  and  form  my  own  opinions.” 

“ Very  well — you  shall  go  to  your  Aunt  Hermione. 
Your  step-mother  is  not  good  enough  for  you.  I — your 
father — am  not  good  enough  for  you.  We  are  all  too  strait- 
laced, too  tied  hand  and  foot  by  the  laces  of  respectability, 
to  serve  as  guide  or  check  on  such  a headstrong  piece  of 
goods  as  yourself.  You  go  to  Hermione  next  week.” 

“ I do  not  wish  to  go  to  her.  I dislike  her.  I detest  the 
sort  of  life  led  in  her  house,  a life  utterly  hollow,  frivolous 
and  insincere.” 

“ She  is  a woman  of  the  world.” 

“ A woman  of  the  world  that  is  passing  away.  I am 
standing  with  one  foot  on  a world  that  is  coming  on,  and  I 
will  not  step  back  on  to  the  other.” 


264 


ARMINELL. 


“ You  go  to  Aunt  Hermione,”  said  Lord  Lamerton 
peremptorily.  He  was  losing  his  temper. 

“ How  long  am  I to  be  with  her  ? ” 

“ That  depends.  Your  mother  has  written  to  ask  her  to 
receive  you  for  six  months.,, 

“ Six  months  ! ” Arminell  disengaged  herself  from  her 
father.  “Six  months  is  an  eternity.  I cannot ! I will  not 
submit  to  this.  I shall  do  something  desperate.  I detest 
that  old  Hermione.  Her  voice  grates  on  my  nerves,  her 
laugh  raises  my  bad  passions.  I can  hardly  endure  her  for 
six  days.  Her  good  nature  is  imbecility  itself,  and  pro- 
vokes me  ; her  vanity  makes  her  ridiculous.  I cannot,  in- 
deed, I will  not  go  to  her.” 

“You  must,  Armie!  It  is  my  wish — it  is  my  com- 
mand.” 

“ But  not  for  six  months.  Six  weeks  is  the  outside 
of  my  endurance.” 

“ Armie,  I heartily  wish  that  there  were  no  necessity  for 
parting  with  you  at  all,  but  you  have  given  me  and  your 
mother  such  cause  for  anxiety,  and  such  pain,  that  we  have 
concluded  together  that  it  is  best  for  you  and  us  to  be 
separated  for  a while.  You,  I have  said,  give  me  pain, 
especially  now  at  a time  when  I am  worried  by  external 
troubles.  I cannot  force  you  to  go  to  your  aunt's,  nor 
force  you  to  remain  there  longer  than  you  choose,  but  you 
know  my  intentions,  and  they  are  for  your  good,  and  our 
own  relief.” 

“ Am  I such  an  annoyance  to  you  ? ” asked  Arminell,  in 
a subdued  tone. 

“ Of  course,  with  your  waywardness,  and  open  defiance 
of  our  authority,  you  are.  You  have  made  me — let  alone 
my  lady — very  unhappy.  You  have  set  yourself  up  to  dis- 
agree with  us  at  every  point,  to  run  counter  to  all  our 
wishes,  and  to  take  up  with  Dersons  with  whom  we  dis- 
approve of  your  associating.” 


ARMINELL. 


265 


“ I give  you  pain,  papa  ? ” 

“Very  much  pain  indeed.” 

“ And  you  think  it  would  make  you  happier  if  I left 
Orleigh,  and  that  it  would  also  be  better  for  me  ? ” 

“ I do,  indeed.” 

“And  six  months,  you  suppose,  will  cure  me  of  my 
wilfulness  ? ” 

“ I do  not  say  that ; that  depends  on  yourself.” 

“ Anyhow,  for  six  months  you  will  have  ease  of  mind  if  I 
*m  away  from  you,  and  in  good  hands  ? ” 

“ In  good  hands,  certainly.  Hermione’s  house  is  a very 
suitable  school.  You  will  there  be  brought  to  understand 
that  deference  is  due  to  your  superiors,  consideration  for 
the  feelings  of  others,  respect  for  opinions  that  differ  from 
your  own,  and  especially  that  regard  is  to  be  had  for  les 
conveyances , without  which  social  life  would  go  to  pieces,  as 
a chain  of  pearls  that  has  lost  its  connecting  links.  Les 
convenances  may  be,  and  indeed  are,  in  themselves  nothing, 
but  they  hold  society  together.  V7ou  have  been  left  too 
much  to  yourself  or  with  unsatisfactory  governesses.  You 
must  be  taught  youi  proper  place.  You  must  go  into  the 
stream  of  social  life,  and  feel  the  current  and  its  irresistible 
force.” 

“Very  well,  papa,  I will  gc*.” 

“Your  aunt  will  be  sure  to  write  to-day;  we  shall  have  a 
letter  to-morrow.” 

Arminell  said  nothing.  RTi  brows  were  knit  and  her 
lips  set. 

“ I am  sorry  we  have  to  give  np  the  trip  to  Switzerland : 
it  might  have  been  pleasant,  had  we  been  all  together,  but  1 
must  deny  myself  that.  The  Irish  property  has  brought  in 
nothing ; and  I have  lost  money  in  other  ways ; now  I must 
set  the  men  to  work  on  the  new  road — that  is,  if  they  will 
condescend  to  make  it.” 

On  reaching  the  house,  Lord  Lamerton  went  at  once  to 


266 


ARMINELL. 


the  drawing-room,  and  caught  his  wife  dozing  over  a magazine. 
He  put  his  hand  on  her  shoulder,  and  said, 

“Julia  ! ” 

She  started,  and  dropped  her  book. 

“ Oh,  you  are  back  at  last ! Have  you  had  anything  to  eat?” 
“ More  than  I am  able  to  digest,  my  dear.” 

“ How  did  the  speech  succeed  ? You  remembered 
Langland’s  date,  I hope  ? ” 

“ My  dear,  I have  heard  too  many  speeches  to-day  to 
remember  anything  about  my  own — that  is  to  say,  yours. 
I have  had  three — one  from  Mr.  Welsh,  one  from  Captain 
Saltren,  and  one  from  Arminell,  and  upon  my  soul,  I do  not 
know  which  was  the  most  unpleasant.  Do  you  know  where 
Arminell  has  been  since  dinner?” 

“ In  her  room,  I suppose.” 

“ No  ; she  has  been  out — with  Jingles.” 

“ Never  ! ” 

Her  ladyship  looked  blank. 

“ It  is  a fact.  She  went  with  him  to  a meeting  held  by 
the  malcontents  against  me ; went  to  hear  what  they  had  to 
say  against  her  own  father,  and  went  with  that  fellow  with 
whom  you  had  cautioned  her  not  to  be  seen,  and  whom  I 
had  forbidden  to  associate  with  her.” 

“ Good  gracious  ! how  improper.” 

“ The  girl  is  unmanageable.  However,  I have  got  her  to 
promise  to  go  to  her  Aunt  Hermione  for  a bit,  if  Hermione 
will  take  her.  I tried  to  make  her  agree  to  six  months,  but 
I am  not  sure  that  I can  bring  her  to  consent  to  so  long  a 
banishment.” 

“ But — to  go  out  with  Jingles,  after  all  that  has  been  said 
to  her ! ” 

“ And  for  him  to  have  the  audacity  to  take  her  out — and 
to  such  a meeting.” 

“ They  must  have  gone  out  immediately  after  dinner. 
You  have  not  dined  ? ” 


ARMINELL. 


267 


Lord  Lamerton  shook  his  head. 

“ I have  swallowed  a good  deal  to-day,”  he  said  with  an 
attempt  at  a smile.  “ I have  been  bamboozled  by  Welsh 
dumfoundered  by  Saltren,  and  flouted  bv  Arminell.” 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 


A CONTRETEMPS. 

The  inquest  on  young  Tubb  took  place  on  the  following 
day.  This  occasioned  fresh  unpleasantness,  and  further 
excitement  of  feeling.  Unfortunately  Captain  Saltren  was 
on  the  jury,  and  he  insisted  against  all  evidence  and  reason, 
in  maintaining  that  the  verdict  should  be  to  the  effect  that 
Archelaus  Tubb  had  been  murdered  by  his  lordship.  One 
other  juryman  agreed  with  him,  but  the  others  could  not 
go  so  far.  As  Saltren  stubbornly  refused  to  yield,  the  jury 
was  discharged,  and  another  summoned  by  the  coroner, 
which  returned  “ Accidental  death,”  but  with  a rider 
blaming  Macduff  for  carelessness  in  the  destruction  of  the 
cottage. 

Arminell  was  changed  in  her  behaviour  to  her  father  since 
she  had  heard  Mrs.  Saltren’s  story.  She  had  lost  faith  in 
him ; those  good  qualities  which  she  had  previously  recog- 
nised in  him,  she  now  believed  to  be  unreal.  The  man  as 
he  was  had  been  disclosed  to  her— false,  sensual,  wanting 
in  honour.  All  the  good  he  displayed  was  the  domino  cast 
over  and  concealing  the  mean  and  shabby  reality.  He  wore 
his  domino  naturally,  with  a frank  bonhommie  which  was  the 
perfection  of  acting — but  then,  it  was  acting.  Arminell  was 
very  straightforward,  blunt  and  sincere,  and  hated  everything 
which  was  not  open.  Social  life  she  represented  to  herself 
as  a school  of  disguises,  a masquerade  in  which  no  one 


ARMINELL. 


269 


shows  as  he  is,  but  dresses  in  the  part  he  wishes  to  appear 
in.  Some  men  and  women  are  such  finished  actors  that 
they  forget  themselves  in  their  assumed  parts,  and  such  was 
her  father.  Having  to  occupy  the  position  of  a county 
magnate,  he  had  come  to  fit  the  position  exteriorly,  and  had 
accommodated  his  conscience  to  the  delusion  that  he  was 
what  he  pretended  to  be — the  wealthy,  blameless,  honourable 
nobleman,  against  whom  not  a stone  could  be  cast.  All  this 
was  a pretence,  and  Arminell  was  not  angry,  only  her  moral 
nature  revolted  at  the  assumption.  Her  high  principle  and 
downrightness  made  her  resent  the  fraud  that  had  been  per- 
petrated on  herself  and  the  world. 

She  had  on  several  occasions  heard  her  father  speak  in 
public,  and  had  felt  ashamed  because  he  spoke  so  badly, 
but  chiefly  because  she  was  convinced  that  he  was  repeating, 
parrot-like,  what  had  been  put  into  his  mouth  by  my  lady. 
He  pretended  to  speak  his  own  thoughts,  and  he  spoke 
those  of  his  wife — that  was  an  assumption,  and  so  was  his 
respectability,  so  his  morality. 

Arminell  had  long  undervalued  her  father’s  mental  powers, 
but  she  had  believed  in  his  rectitude.  She  thought  his  virtue 
was  like  that  stupid  going-straightforward  that  is  found  in  a 
farmer’s  horse,  which  will  jog  along  the  road,  and  go  straight, 
and  be  asleep  as  it  goes.  But  Mrs.  Saltren’s  story,  which 
she  believed  in  spite  of  the  improbabilities — improbabilities 
she  did  not  stop  to  consider,  had  overthrown  the  conviction, 
and  she  now  saw  in  her  father  a man  as  morally  imperfect 
as  he  was  intellectually  deficient. 

Had  he  been  open,  and  not  attempted  to  disguise  his 
offence,  she  might  have  forgiven  him,  but  when  he  assumed 
the  disguise  of  an  upright  God-fearing  man,  doing  his  duty, 
her  strictly  truthful  nature  rose  up  in  indignant  protest. 
****** 

“ My  dear ! ” exclaimed  Lady  Lamerton  ; “ good  gracious, 
what  is  this  I hear?  What  have  you  done?  Undertaken 


27° 


ARMINELL. 


to  throw  open  the  grounds  and  house  on  Saturday  ! Why, 
Lamerton,  how  could  you  ? Saturday  is  the  day  on  which 
I proposed  to  give  our  garden-party.” 

“ Ton  my  word,  Julia,  I forgot  about  your  garden- 
party  ! ” 

“ You  promised  to  make  a note  of  the  day.” 

“So  I did — not  to  be  from  home.  But  I forgot  when  I 
was  asked  to  allow  the  place  to  be  seen.” 

“You  must  countermand  the  order  to  have  it  opened.”’ 

“ That  I cannot  do.  I publicly,  at  the  meeting,  an- 
nounced that  I would  allow  the  house  and  grounds  to  be 
overrun  on  Saturday,  and  I cannot  withdraw  the  per- 
mission.” 

“ Only  for  this  once.” 

“ Not  for  this  once.  It  is  the  first  Saturday  after  the 
promise  was  made.  You  must  postpone  your  garden-party.” 
“ I cannot  do  that.  The  invitations  have  been  sent  out. 
There  is  no  time ; ices,  the  band,  everything,  are  ordered.” 
“Well,  Julia,  we  must  make  shift  as  we  can.” 

“ Look  here,  Lamerton,  how  will  it  do  to  confine 
our  party  to  the  terrace  and  garden,  and  have  refreshments 
in  the  orangery  ? ” 

“ So  be  it  ; that  will  do  very  well.  The  guests  will  not 
object.  Tell  them  there  has  been  a clash,  and  they  will 
enjoy  the  joke.” 

“The  public  will  want  to  be  admitted  to  the  house  by 
the  principal  entrance.” 

“ Of  course.  They  are  to  be  shown  the  state  apart- 
ments, and  the  doubtful  Van  Dyck.” 

“ Then — how  about  our  guests  ? What  a predicament 
you  have  got  me  into.  We  cannot  receive  our  guests  at  the 
back  door.” 

“No  need  for  that,  Julia.  Receive  in  the  garden.  The 
carriages  will  set  down  the  guests  at  the  iron  gates.  Pray 
heaven  we  may  have  fine  weather  ! ” 


ARMINELL. 


271 


w It  will  be  very  awkward.  The  footmen  will  have  to 
look  after  the  sight-seers,  that  they  do  not  poke  their 
umbrellas  through  the  pictures,  or  finger  the  ornaments — 
and  we  shall  want  them  in  the  garden  to  attend  to  our 
guests  ! ” 

“ It  will  go  all  right.  I will  send  Macduff  to  arrange. 
He  is  a manager.” 

After  a pause,  Lady  Lamerton  said,  “ I am  glad 
Hermione  will  take  Arminell  under  her  wing.  You  have 
told  Armie  to  be  ready  to  start  on  Monday  ? ” 

“ Yes  ; I don’t  understand  the  girl,  whether  she  is  in  a 
sulk,  or  sorry  for  her  misconduct.” 

“ Her  boxes  are  being  got  ready,”  said  Lady  Lamerton. 
“ There  is  something  in  her  manner  that  is  uncomfortable. 
I have  noticed  it  as  well  as  you.  When  I speak  at  out 
Lady  Hermione,  she  says  nothing,  and  leaves  the  room.” 

“ A plunge  in  London  life  will  renovate  her.” 

“ I trust  so.  She  sadly  needs  renovation.  The  caldron 
of  a London  season  differs  from  that  of  Pelias.  The 
latter  rejuvenated  those  dipped  in  it  ; but  the  former 
matures.” 

“ Have  you  spoken  to  Arminell  about  going  out  with 
Jingles  the  other  night  ?” 

Lady  Lamerton  shook  her  head. 

“No,”  said  his  lordship,  “I  know  it  is  of  no  use.  Best 
say  nothing.  We  must  build  our  hopes  on  a diversion  of 
her  thoughts.” 

“Yes — ” Lady  Lamerton  mused,  then  heaved  a sigh. 
“Oh,  Lamerton,  what  a muddle  you  have  made!  How 
shall  we  manage  a garden-party  when  we  have  the  public 
swarming  all  about  the  place  ? It  is  a contretemps  1 ” 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 


HOW  IT  WAS  CONTRIVED. 

Macduff  did  it.  Macduff  exerted  himself  over  it,  for 
Macduff  was  under  a cloud,  and  endeavoured  to  disperse 
the  cloud  by  the  sunshine  of  amiability.  Besides  Macduff 
was  a manager — would  have  made  a superb  station-master 
at  Rugby,  or  President  of  the  French  Republic — any  other 
office  full  of  difficulty  and  conflicting  elements  would  suit 
Macduff.  He  rose  to  the  occasion. 

The  day  for  the  garden-party  was  delightful,  and  the 
park  looked  its  loveliest,  except  in  early  spring  and  late 
autumn,  when  the  buds  of  some  and  the  fresh  green  of 
other  trees  were  in  all  shades,  or  when  the  first  frosts  had 
touched  the  foliage  with  every  hue  of  gold  and  copper. 
These,  indeed,  were  the  times  when  the  park  and  woods 
were  in  most  radiant  beauty ; but  now,  with  a soft  and 
luscious  haze  over  the  distance,  and  a brilliant  sun  stream- 
ing light  above  all,  it  was  very  beautiful. 

The  park  and  the  house  were  abandoned  to  the  sight- 
seers ; but  the  garden,  terrace,  and  avenue  were  reserved 
for  the  guests.  The  orange  house,  now  empty,  because  the 
trees  had  been  brought  forth  to  adorn  the  terrace,  was  de- 
corated and  arranged  for  refreshments,  or  for  a refuge  in 
the  event  of  rain. 

A military  band  was  in  attendance,  and  four  lawn-tennis 
courts  marked  out,  with  boys  in  picturesque  uniforms 


ARMINELL.  273 

stationed  about  them,  to  return  the  balls  that  passed  be- 
yond bounds. 

At  the  lodge  gate  instructions  had  been  given  that  the 
coachmen  should  deposit  the  guests  at  the  garden  gates — 
handsome,  scroll  iron  gates  under  an  arch  of  Anglo-Italian 
architecture,  on  the  pediment  of  which  were  emblazoned 
the  arms,  supporters,  and  coronet  of  the  Lamertons.  This 
gate  afforded  admission  to  the  garden-terrace,  and  com- 
pletely shut  off  the  more  private  part  of  the  grounds  from 
the  park.  But  though  the  terrace  was  shut  off  from  all  in- 
trusion, it  was  not  so  completely  closed  as  to  prevent  those 
without  from  seeing  into  it.  Between  the  gate  and  the 
house  was  a low  wall,  with  a railing  on  it.  The  windows  of 
the  state  drawing-room  looked  out  on  the  terrace,  and  a 
glass  door  with  a flight  of  stone  steps  descended  from  the 
entrance  hall  to  the  terrace.  The  house  was  of  the  age  of 
Elizabeth  ; but  one  wing,  that  containing  the  state  apart- 
ments, had  been  rebuilt  or  re-modelled  in  the  reign  of 
Queen  Anne,  so  that  it  in  no  way  harmonised  with  the  rest 
of  the  house,  though  furnishing  within  a suite  of  noble  and 
lofty  apartments,  cheerful,  and  a pleasing  contrast  to  the 
somewhat  sombre  rooms,  panelled  with  oak,  or  hung  with 
tapestry  in  the  older  house.  Orleigh  was  not  one  of  those 
brick  palaces  that  are  found  in  the  Midland  and  Eastern 
counties  ; but  it  was  commodious,  venerable,  and  charm- 
ingly situated. 

The  arrangements  made  by  Macduff  and  sanctioned  by 
my  lady,  worked  harmoniously.  To  some  of  her  guests  the 
hostess  mentioned  the  inconvenience  to  which  she  feared 
they  would  be  subjected,  and  left  them  to  tell  the  others 
about  it,  if  they  saw  fit. 

The  day  was  so  bright  that  there  was  no  occasion  to  go 
indoors.  Lord  and  Lady  Lamerton  stood  at  a shore  dis- 
tance from  the  iron  gates,  ready  to  receive  their  guests,  who, 
liter  a first  greeting,  walked  forward  and  allowed  their  hosts 

s 


274 


ARMINELL. 


to  receive  the  next  batch.  They  looked  at  the  beds,  the 
oranges,  the  view  ; and  those  who  were  enthusiastic  about 
flowers  found  their  way  into  the  conservatories.  Then 
the  guests  began  to  coagulate  into  knots  and  sets.  The 
clergy  herded  together,  and  the  sporting  men  graduated  to- 
wards each  other  ; only  the  army  men  sought  out  and  made 
themselves  agreeable  to  the  ladies. 

“ Where  is  Arminell  ? ” asked  Lady  Lamerton,  in  an  ir 
terval  between  the  reception  of  guests. 

“’Pon  my  soul,  Julia,  I do  not  know.” 

“ She  ought  to  be  here — with  us.  She  puts  the  obliga- 
tions of  common  courtesy  from  her  as  undeserving  of  at- 
tention.” 

“ I will  send  for  her.” 

“No;  best  take  no  notice.  She  may  appear  presently. 
Here  come  the  Cribbages.” 

“ My  dear  Lady  Lamerton,”  exclaimed  the  rector’s  wife, 
running  up,  and  in  a gushing  manner  extending  her  hand. 
“ How  bright  and  charming  you  look,  in  spite  of  all  your 
worries.  It  is  a marvel  to  me  how  you  bear  up  under  it  all ; 
and  to  think  of  the  audacity  of  Jingles  ! the  ingratitude,  the 
presumption ! So  he  is  turned  out  of  the  house,  neck  and 
crop;  and  yet  you  look  as  fresh  and  smiling  as  if  nothing 
had  happened.  How  I do  envy  your  placidity  of  temper.” 

Then,  turning  to  Lord  Lamerton,  “ Really,  my  lord,  you 
are  an  angel  of  good-nature  to  allow  the  public  admission 
to  your  beautiful  grounds  twice  a week,  and  put  yourself  and 
your  guests  to  annoyance  to  oblige  them.  I heard  the  par- 
ticulars from  Mrs.  Macduff.  Come,  Robert” — this  to  her 
husband — “ you  must  not  detain  our  kind  hosts.  Don’t 
you  see  that  the  Calwoodleighs  are  coming?  By  the  way, 
dear  Lady  Lamerton,  where  is  Miss  Inglett?  Shall  I find 
her  on  the  terrace?  What  dress  is  she  wearing?  There 
are  so  many  persons  here  that  I may  miss  her  among  the 
throng.  Which  dress  is  it?  The  heliotrope  or  the  amber?” 


ARMINELL. 


275 


She  was  drawn  on  by  her  husband,  who  saw  that  the 
Calwoodleighs  were  waiting  to  be  received.  “ Come  along, 
Selina/’  said  the  rector.  u I see  the  archdeacon  yonder.” 

“ I’m  not  going  to  be  hurried,  Robert,”  answered  Mrs. 
Cribbage.  “ I must  have  another  word  presently  with  my 
lord.  You  may  leave  me  if  you  like.  You  are  not  wont 
to  be  civil  to  your  wife.  Besides,  I know  why  you  want  to 
be  off.  It  is  very  fine  pretending  you  have  something  to 
say  to  the  archdeacon  ; I know  what  is  the  attraction  in  that 
direction,  his  niece,  Miss  Lovat,  whom  some  think  pretty. 
But  I don’t.  Go  and  prance  about  the  archdeacon  and  her, 
if  you  like.” 

The  Calwoodleighs  having  gone  forward,  Mrs.  Cribbage 
returned  to  her  hosts,  and  said  to  Lord  Lamerton : 

“How  good  and  kind  it  was  of  you,  my  lord,  to  put  in 
an  appearance  at  poor  Archelaus  Tubb’s  funeral.  I have 
no  doubt  the  family  were  flattered  by  the  extraordinary 
attention,  and  to  be  sure,  what  nasty,  spiteful  things  have 
been  said  about  your  share  in  his  death.  Now,  Robert,  I 
will  go  with  you  and  engage  Miss  Lovat  whilst  you  talk  to 
the  archdeacon.” 

The  arrival  of  the  guests  had  in  the  meantime  caused 
great  satisfaction  to  the  sight-seer  , who  had  discussed  and 
severely  criticised  the  equipages. 

The  meeting  at  Patience  Kite’s  cottage  had  been  reported 
in  the  papers,  the  speech  by  Welsh  given  as  he  chose  that 
it  should  be  read,  that  of  Saltren  omitted  altogether. 
Moreover,  the  county  papers  had  announced  the  throwing 
open  of  the  grounds  on  Saturday,  and  as  this  was  a day  of 
early  closing,  a good  many  townsfolk,  mostly  shopmen  and 
shopgirls,  took  advantage  of  the  occasion  to  come  to  Orleigh, 
and  see  the  place  where  that  notorious  Lord  Lamerton  lived. 

They  clustered  about  the  garden  gates,  passing  their  com- 
ments on  the  arrivals,  mostly  disparaging,  and  expressed  at 
times  loud  enough  to  be  heard  by  those  discussed. 


276 


ARMINELL. 


One  or  two  parties  arrived  in  hired  conveyances.  “ Them’s 
too  poor  to  keep  a carriage,”  was  the  observation  with  which 
they  were  saluted.  The  rector  and  Mrs.  Cribbage  came  on 
foot.  “ These  can’t  afford  a cab.  Curate  and  his  old  house- 
keeper, won’t  they  eat ! ” 

By  far  the  most  stylish  and  astonishing  was  the  equipage 
of  Sir  Bosanquet  Gammon,  the  new  high  sheriff.  Sir 
Bosanquet  was  a north-country  man  who  had  made  a large 
fortune  as  a civil  engineer.  He  was  never  able  altogether 
to  shake  off  his  native  dialect  and  to  speak  as  an  educated 
English  gentleman.  This  was  the  more  singular,  as  he 
asserted  that  the  family  was  originally  De  Gammon,  and 
had  Plantagenet  blood  in  it.  His  coat-of-arms  on  carriage 
and  yacht  was  a patchwork  of  quarterings.  That  Plantagenet 
blood  and  fifty  heiresses  should  not  by  their  fused  gentility 
have  prevented  Gammon  from  talking  with  a north-country 
twang  was  something  to  shake  the  foundations  of  Anthro- 
pology. 

Sir  Bosanquet  Gammon,  being  high  sheriff,  thought  it  in- 
cumbent on  him  to  make  a display,  so  he  drove  to  Orleigh 
in  a carriage  with  hammercloth,  and  powdered  coachman 
and  flunkeys. 

Giraldus  Cambrensis,  in  his  “ Topography  of  Ireland,” 
says  that  in  Meath,  near  Foure,  are  three  lakes,  each  occu- 
pied by  a special  kind  of  fish,  and  he  adds  that,  although 
these  lakes  are  connected,  the  fish  of  each  lake  keep  to 
themselves,  and  should  they  venture  into  the  lake  inhabited 
by  the  finny  tribe  of  another  species,  they  would  be  so  like 
fish  out  of  water,  that  they  would  die,  unless  indeed  they 
precipitately  retreated  to  their  former  habitation. 

It  also  seemed  at  Orleigh  this  day  that  fish  of  three  sorts 
were  swimming  about  in  three  several  ponds  without  as- 
sociation and  amalgamation.  Within  the  iron  gates  and 
rails  were  the  red-fleshed  salmon,  by  themselves,  with 
interests  in  common,  a common  mode  of  speech,  a common 


ARMINELL. 


277 


code  of  manner,  and  a common  culture.  Without  the 
railings,  yet  within  the  park,  were  the  common-place  fish 
that  understood  and  appreciated  jokes  which  would  have 
been  insipid  or  vulgar  to  those  within  the  railings,  also  with 
a common  dialect,  a peculiar  twang  and  intonation  of  voice, 
and  a common  style  of  thought  and  cultural  tone. 

Further  away,  outside  the  park  gates  and  enclosure  were 
fish  of  another  quality  altogether,  the  homely  trout — the 
village  rustics,  the  miners  out  of  work — also  with  their 
peculiar  modes  of  thought,  their  dialect,  their  prejudices, 
and  their  quality  of  humour,  distinct  from  the  rest  and 
special  to  themselves. 

How  would  one  of  the  town  fish  have  felt,  had  he  been 
admitted  within  the  gates?  How  one  of  the  rustics,  if 
associated  with  the  shop-folk  ? Each  would  have  been  un- 
easy, gasping,  and  glad  to  get  back  from  such  uncongenial 
society  into  his  proper  pond  once  more. 

When  the  last  of  the  guests  had  arrived,  Lord  and  Lady 
Lamerton  left  their  reception  post,  and  mixed  with  the 
company.  The  lookers-on  outside  the  railings  did  not  at 
once  disperse.  A policeman  and  a couple  of  keepers  were 
on  guard.  The  gates  were  closed,  but  the  people  insisted 
on  peering  through  the  bars  and  between  the  rails  at  the 
well-dressed  gentle  class  within,  and  others  scrambled  up  on 
the  dwarf  wall  to  obtain  a better  view,  and  were  ordered 
down  by  the  policeman  only  to  reascend  to  the  vantage 
point  when  his  back  was  turned. 

“ I ain’t  doing  nothing,”  remonstrated  one  of  those  re- 
quired to  descend  ; “ a cat  may  look  at  a king,  and  I want 
to  see  Lord  Lamerton.” 

“ Come  down  at  once.” 

“ But  I came  here  o’  purpose.” 

“You  can  see  the  park  and  the  pictures.” 

“ Oh,  blow  the  park  and  pictures.  I didn’t  pay  two- 
and-eight  return  to  see  them.  I came  here  to  see  his  lord- 


278 


ARMINELL. 


ship.  So,  Mr.  Bobby,  take  him  my  card  and  compliments. 
I’m  in  the  Bespoke  Department  at  Messrs.  Skewes.” 

“ You  cannot  see  him.  Come  down  at  once.” 

“ But  I must  and  will  see  the  nobleman  who  has  been  so 
wicked,  and  has  caused  such  wretchedness,  who  has  tore 
down  widows’  houses,  and  crushed  the  ’eads  of  orphans.” 
Then  another  man  offered  a cigar  to  one  of  the  keepers. 
“Look  here,  old  man,”  he  said.  “Point  his  lordship 
out  to  me.  I want  to  have  a squint  at  him — a regular 
Judye  Jeffries  he  is.” 

“ Talk  of  Bulgarian  atrocities,”  said  another.  “ They’re  a 
song  to  these  at  Orleigh.  Down  with  the  House  of  Lords, 
says  I,  and  let  us  have  the  enfranchisement  of  the 
soil.” 

“ It  is  all  primogeniture  does  it,”  said  a third,  “ there 
never  ought  to  be  no  first  boras.” 

In  the  innermost  pond,  meanwhile,  the  guests  were 
swimming  about  and  consorting.  Mrs.  Cribbage  bore 
down  on  Lady  Lamerton. 

“Do  tell  me,  dear  Lady  Lamerton,  where  is  Miss  Ar- 
minell ; I have  been  searching  for  her  everywhere.  Don’t 
tell  me  she  is  ill.  Though,  perhaps,  she  has  had  occasion 
to  feel  upset.  She  really  must  be  somewhere,  but  I am  so 
short-sighted  I have  not  been  able  to  find  her.  Perhaps 
she  is  in  a new  dress,  with  which  I am  not  acquainted-.” 

“ We  are  going  to  send  her  to  town ; her  aunt,  Lady 
Hermione  Woodhead,  has  been  so  kind  as  to  invite  her,  as 
we  remain  at  Orleigh  for  the  time,  and  do  not  think  of 
being  in  town  during  the  season.  It  would  be  a pity  for 
Arminell  not  to  see  the  Academy  this  year,  and  hear  the 
Italian  opera,  and  see  some  of  our  friends.  So  when  Lady 
Hermione  offered  it,  we  accepted  gladly.” 

“Very  gladly,  I am  sure,”  said  Mrs.  Cribbage  with  a 
knowing  twinkle  in  her  eye.  “ But  where  is  she  now  ? ” 

" I cannot  say,  I have  not  looked  lor  her ; I have  been 


V 


ARMINELL.  279 

intent  on  receiving  our  friends.  Here  is  Lady  Gammon. 
I must  be  civil  to  her.” 

“ How  propitious  the  weather  is,”  said  the  high  sheriffess, 
“and  how  gratified  you  must  be,  my  lady,  to  see  so  many 
individuals  about  you  in  the  plentitude  of  enjoyment.” 

There  are  persons,  they  belong  to  a cert:  in  social  class, 
who  always  use  a long  word  from  the  Latin  when  a short 
Anglo-Saxon  one  would  do. 

“ What  a superabundance  of  ministers,  all,  I perceive,  of 
the  Established  Church  ; but  really,  considering  the  high 
sheriff  was  to  be  here,  they  might  have  come  in  hats,  in- 
stead of  what  is  vulgarly  called  wide-awakes.  Do  you 
know,  my  lady,  what  it  is  that  I really  want  of  you  ? Can 
you  guess  what  the  favour  is  that  I am  going  to  ask  of  you  ? 
No — I am  sure  you  cannot.  Sir  Bosanquet  and  I had  a 
discussion  together  at  breakfast  relative  to  the  polarisation 
of  light,  and  I said  to  Sir  Bosanquet — ” (within  parenthesis  be 
it  noted  that  before  the  civil  engineer  was  knighted,  his 
wife  always  called  him  h lb  or  hubby) — “ I said  to  Sir 
Bosanquet,  ‘ my  dear,  we  will  refer  the  matter  to  her  lady- 
ship who  is  a very  learned  lady,  and  she  shall  de- 
cided ” 

“ I ! ” answered  Lady  Lamerton,  “ I really  do  not  know. 
It  has — that  is — I believe  it  has — but  really  I have  only  the 
vaguest  idea  concerning  it  ; it  has  to  do  with  the  breaking 
up  of  a ray  into  its  prismatic  colours.” 

“ I knew  it  has  to  do  with  prismatic  colours,  and  had  no- 
thing to  do  with  polar  bears.  Polar  bears  are  white.” 

“ Thomson,”  said  Lady  Lamerton  aside  to  a footman, 
“ be  so  good  as  to  send  me  Miss  Inglett’s  maid — to  me 
here,  on  the  terrace.” 

A few  minutes  later  the  lady’s-maid  came  to  where  my 
lady  was  standing ; she  held  a salver  with  a three-cornered 
sealed  note  on  it. 

“ Please,  my  lady,  Thomson  said  your  ladyship ” 


28o 


ARMINELL. 


“ Yes,”  interrupted  Lady  Lamerton,  te  what  have  you  got 
there  ? ” 

“ A note,  my  lady,  Miss  Inglett  left  on  her  dressing-table 
for  his  lordship,  before  she  went.” 

“ Went ! ” 

“ Started,  my  lady,  for  town  to  Lady  Hermione  Wood- 
head’s.  She  said,  my  lady,  she  would  write  for  me  when  1 
was  required.” 

Lady  Lamerton  took  the  note.  It  was  addressed  to  hei 
husband,  but  she  hastily  opened  it.  It  contained  these  few 
lines  only — 

“ Dear  Papa, 

ts  You  said  it  would  be  best  for  you  and  for  my  step- 
mother, and  for  myself,  if  I went  away  for  some  time  from 
Orleigh.  I have  gone — but  not  to  Aunt  Hermione.  You 
can,  of  course,  guess  who  accompanies  me,  one  whom  I 
trust  ere  long  you  will  acknowledge  as  a son.  I will  write 
in  a day  or  two. 

“ Yours  ever, 

“ Arminell.” 

Lady  Lamerton  did  not  lose  her  presence  of  mind. 
“ That  will  do,”  she  said  to  the  maid,  and  went  in  quest  of 
her  husband.  She  showed  him  the  letter  and  said  in  a low 
tone,  “ No  time  is  to  be  lost;  go  instantly,  go  yourself  to 
Chillacot,  and  see  if  she  be  there.  If  not  you  can  learn 
where  he  is.  No  one  else  can  go.  I will  keep  the  company 
amused  and  occupied.  Slip  put  by  the  gate  at  the  end  of 
the  avenue  and  go  over  the  down,  no  one  will  observe  you.” 

Lord  Lamerton  nodded,  and  departed  without  a word. 
Presently  up  came  Mrs.  Cribbage  again,  “ I cannot  find 
Miss  Inglett  anywhere,”  she  said. 

“ No,  Mrs.  Cribbage,”  answered  Lady  Lamerton.  “ How 
are  you  likely  to  when  she  is  gone  to  town  ? Did  not  I tell 
you  that  we  had  accepted  Lady  Hermione’s  kind  invitation?  ” 


ARMINELL. 


281 


“ But  I did  not  understand  she  was  gone.  I thought  she 
was  going.” 

“ Surely  you  misunderstood  me,  Mrs.  Cribbage ; here 
comes  Sir  Bosanquet.” 

“ There  now,”  exclaimed  Lady  Gammon,  sailing  up  with 
a flutter  of  silk,  and  a waving  of  lace  fringe  to  her  parasol. 
“ There,  I said  so,  Sir  Bosanquet,  polarisation  of  light  has 
nothing  to  do  with  polar  bears.  I bought  Plantagenet  a 
box  of  the  prismatical  colours  because  they  are  warranted 
to  contain  no  deleterious  matter  in  them,  should  the  dear 
child  take  to” — there  was  no  Latinised  word  that  would 
suit,  or  that  she  knew — “ to  suck  ’em.” 

“ Oh  Lady  Gammon,”  said  the  hostess,  “ I am  so  vexed 
that  I cannot  introduce  to  you  my  step-daughter,  but  she 
has  been  invited  to  her  aunt’s,  Lady  Hermione  Woodhead, 
and  there  is  a Richter  concert  to-night — selections  from 
Parzifal,  which  she  ought  not  to  miss.” 


CHAPTER  XXX. 


HOW  THE  FISH  CAME  TOGETHER. 

Lady  Lamerton  did  her  utmost.  She  was  lively,  quite 
sprightly  even.  She  moved  among  her  guests  with  a pleasant 
smile  and  a courteous  word  for  every  one.  The  lawn-tennis 
courts  were  occupied  by  four  sets  of  players.  A cluster  of 
young  men  and  girls  were  at  a table  blowing  soap  bubbles, 
and  finding  fund  for  laughter  in  the  process  A group  of 
their  seniors  were  making  a party  for  bowls.  Some  of  the 
guests  stood  on  the  terrace  looking  down  at  the  lawn-tennis 
players  and  pretending  to  take  interest  in  the  games.  The 
majority  of  those  present  wandered  about  the  gardens, 
shrubberies,  and  conservatories. 

A little  hand  was  thrust  into  that  of  Lady  Lamerton,  and 
on  looking  down  she  saw  Giles. 

“Mamma,  where  is  papa?  I want  to  go  with  him.” 

“ He  has  had  to  leave,  dear,  for  a few  minutes ; he  will 
return  in  perhaps  half  an  hour.” 

“ But  I can  run  after  him.  Where  is  he  ? ” 

“You  cannot  follow  him,  Giles,  he  is  walking  fast,  and  is 
about  something  that  your  presence  would  disturb.  Are 
there  no  little  boys  here  for  you  to  play  with?  Yes,  there 
are  the  two  Fountaynes.  I invited  them  expressly.” 

“ I do  not  want  to  play.  I had  rather  walk  with  papa.” 

“ But  he  would  wish  you  to  take  the  little  boys  and  show 
them  your  pony*  We  cannot,  my  dear,  always  do  what  we 
like.  We  must  bestir  ourselves  to  make  our  guests  happy.” 


ARMINELL.  283 

“Very  well,  mamma,  I will  go  with  the  Fountaynes  as 
papa  wishes  it.” 

He  let  go  her  hand,  and  went  off.  She  looked  affection- 
ately after  the  child  for  a moment,  and  then  resumed  her 
duties  as  hostess,  with  an  anxious  heart  but  an  untroubled 
brow. 

From  the  first  moment  that  our  intelligence  dawns,  the 
first  lessons  impressed  on  us,  lessons  never  pretermitted, 
from  which  no  holiday  gives  release,  relentlessly  and  syste- 
matically enforced,  are  those  of  self-suppression.  We  are 
not  allowed  as  children  even  to  express  our  opinions  de- 
cidedly, to  hate  heartily  any  person  or  anything.  We  are 
required,  for  instance,  to  say  nothing  more  forcible  than — 
we  are  not  devoted  to  our  governess,  and  not  partial  to 
bread-and-butter  pudding.  We  are  instructed  either  to  keep 
silence  altogether  relative  to  our  feelings,  which  is  best  of 
all,  a counsel  of  perfection ; or  if  we  cannot  do  that,  to  give 
utterance  to  them  in  an  inoffensive  and  unobjectionable 
manner.  We  are  taught  to  speak  of  a stupid  person  as 
amiable,  and  of  a disagreeable  person  as  well-intentioned. 
Our  faces  are  not  suffered  to  express  what  our  tongues  are 
not  permitted  to  speak,  consequently  the  facial  muscles  are 
brought  into  as  complete  control  as  the  tongue. 

Consequently  also  when  we  are  thoroughly  schooled,  we 
wear  masks  perpetually  and  always  go  about  with  gloved 
tongues.  At  first,  in  the  nursery  and  in  the  schoolroom, 
there  are  kicks  and  sulks,  when  the  mask  and  the  glove  are 
fitted  on,  and  yet,  in  time,  we  become  so  habituated  to  them 
that  we  are  incapable  of  conceiving  of  life  as  endurable 
without  the  wearing  of  them. 

I know  that  I have  become  so  accustomed  to  a ring  on 
my  little  finger,  that  if  p rchance  L have  forgotten  it,  and 
gone  into  society,  I have  blushed  to  the  roots  of  my  hair, 
and  stammered  and  been  distracted,  thinking  myself  in- 
sufficiently clothed,  simply  because  I had  left  my  ring  on 


284 


ARMINELL. 


the  washhand-stand.  And  it  is  the  same  with  our  masks 
and  gloves,  we  grow  to  like  them,  to  be  uncomfortable 
without  them,  to  be  afraid  to  show  our  faces  or  move  our 
tongues  when  unprotected  by  mask  and  glove. 

A circus  horse  becomes  so  used  to  the  bearing  rein  that 
even  when  he  is  allowed  to  gallop  without  one,  he  runs 
with  arched  neck. 

We  are  all  harnessed  from  our  cradle,  with  bearing  reins, 
not  only  to  give  our  necks  the  proper  curve,  but  also  to 
prevent  us  from  taking  the  bit  in  our  mouths,  kicking  out, 
plunging  over  the  barriers,  and  deserting  the  ring,  and  the 
saw-dust,  the  lights,  and  the  crack  of  the  manager’s 
whip. 

Round  and  round  our  ring  we  go,  now  at  an  amble,  then 
at  a canter,  and  at  last  at  a gallop,  but  always  under  re- 
straint ; the  only  liberty  allowed  and  taken  is  now  and 
again  to  make  our  hoofs  sound  against  the  barriers,  and  to 
send  a little  sawdust  in  the  faces  of  the  lookers-on,  who 
clap  hands  and  laugh  or  scream.  We  dance  in  our  arena 
to  music,  and  spin  about,  and  balance  ourselves  on  pre- 
carious bases,  take  a five-barred  gate  at  a leap,  and  go  over 
a score  of  white  poles,  dexterously  lowered  to  allow  of  a 
leap  without  accident.  Then  we  fall  lame,  and  lie  down, 
and  allow  a pistol  to  be  exploded  in  our  ears,  and  permit 
ourselves  to  be  carried  out  as  dead.  But  whatever  jump 
we  make  has  been  pre-arranged  and  laboriously  practised, 
and  whatever  performance  we  be  put  through  has  been 
artificially  acquired  We  never  snap  our  bearing  rein, 
never  utter  a defiant  snort,  toss  our  heads,  kick  out  at  those 
who  would  detain  us,  and  dash  away  to  pastures  green  and 
free  moorside. 

Possibly  our  happiness  would  be  greater  were  we  to 
burst  away  from  the  perpetual  mill-round,  but  I know  very 
well  what  the  result  would  be.  We  would  rapidly  de- 
generate on  the  moorside  into  uncouth,  shaggy  creatures, 


destitute  of  gloss  and  grace,  and  forget  all  our  circus 
manners. 

That  which  the  grooming  and  breaking-in  are  to  a horse, 
that  culture  is  to  a man,  a sacrifice  of  freedom.  The  lower 
classes  of  men,  the  great  undisciplined,  or  imperfectly  dis- 
ciplined bulk  of  mankind  look  on  at  the  easy  motions  and 
trained  grace  of  the  higher  classes,  with  much  the  same 
puzzlement  as  would  a cluster  of  wild  ponies  stand  and 
watch  the  passing  of  a cavalcade  of  elaborately-trained 
horses.  Both  would  be  equally  ignorant  of  the  amount  of 
self-abnegation  and  submission  to  rule  which  go  to  give 
ease  and  gloss. 

According  to  a Mussulman  legend,  the  Queen  of  Sheba 
had  some  smack  of  savagery  about  her  ; she  had  goat’s  hair 
on  her  ankles.  King  Solomon  heard  this  by  report,  and 
being  desirous  of  ascertaining  the  truth,  he  had  water 
poured  over  the  pavement  of  his  court  when  she  came  to 
visit  him.  As  she  approached  she  raised  her  skirt,  and 
Solomon  detected  the  goat’s  hair. 

There  are  a good  many  men  as  well  as  women  who 
appear  in  the  best  courts  nowadays  with  hair  about  their 
hocks  ; they  have  been  insufficiently  groomed.  But  in  this 
they  differ  from  the  Queen  of  Sheba,  that  they  persistently 
show  us  their  hocks,  and  even  thrust  them  in  our  faces. 
Merciful  powers  ! how  many  half-broken,  ill-trimmed  cobs 
I have  met  with,  kicking  up  their  undocked  heels,  showing 
us  that  they  can  jump  over  poles  and  overleap  hurdles,  that 
they  can  balance  themselves  on  chairs,  and  dance  and  rear 
on  their  hind  legs,  and  paw  the  air,  and  whinny  for 
applause.  We  politely  pat  our  palms,  and  look  all  the 
while,  not  at  their  antics,  but  at  their  hocks,  not  at  all  im- 
pressed with  their  silver  and  spangled  trappings,  but  very 
conscious  of  the  hair  about  their  hoofs. 

It  is  the  fashion  for  moralists  to  hold  up  their  hands,  and 
shake  their  heads,  and  declaim  against  the  artificialities,  the 


286 


ARMINELL. 


disguises  of  social  life,  and  to  say  that  every  word  spoken 
and  look  given  should  be  sincere  ; that  men  and  women 
should  scorn  concealment  and  hate  subterfuge.  But — 
would  the  world  be  tolerable  were  it  so  constituted  ? I 
mean  the  world  of  men.  Is  it  so  in  the  world  of  nature  ? 
Is  that  above  screens  and  disguises  ? Is  that  ruthlessly 
true,  and  offensively  genuine  in  its  operations  ? Where  is 
there  not  manifest  a desire  to  draw  the  veil  over  what  is 
harsh  and  unbecoming?*  The  very  earth  covers  her  bald 
places  with  verdure,  obscures  her  wounds,  and  drapes  her 
ragged  edges.  So  the  function  of  culture  is  the  softening 
of  what  is  rough,  the  screening  of  what  is  unseemly,  the  dis- 
guising of  all  that  may  occasion  pain.  It  is  nothing  else 
but  charity  in  its  most  graceful  form,  that  spares  another  at 
the  cost  of  self. 

I have  been  in  a volcanic  region  where  there  were  in- 
numerable craters,  great  and  small.  Those  on  the  plain, 
hardly  rising  above  a few  feet  out  of  it,  showed  all  their 
bare  horror,  their  torn  lips,  their  black  throats,  their  sides 
bristling  with  the  angular  lava  that  had  boiled  out  of  their 
hot  and  angry  hearts,  long  ago,  but  ever  showing.  They 
were  perfectly  genuine,  expressing  their  true  nature  in  ugly 
nakedness.  But  there  were  other  volcanoes  rising  to 
mountain  heights,  and  these  had  mantled  themselves  in 
snow,  had  choked  and  smoothed  over  their  clefts,  and  hung 
garlands  of  silver,  and  dropped  gauzy  veils  over  their 
vitreous  precipices  ; the  very  craters,  the  sources  of  the  fire, 
were  filled  to  the  brim  and  heaped  up  to  overflow  with  un- 
sullied snow,  rising  white,  rounded,  innocent,  as  a maiden’s 
bosom.  Which  was  best  ? I know  which  was  the  pleasant- 
est to  see. 

So  is  it  with  humanity.  We  are  all  volcanoes  with  fire 
in  our  hearts.  Some  have  broken  forth  and  torn  themselves 
to  pieces,  some  are  in  a chronic  state  of  fume,  and  dribble 
lava  and  splutter  cinders  perpetually,  and  others  are  ex- 


ARMINELL. 


287 


hausted.  Surely  it  is  best  to  hide  our  fires,  and  drape  our 
savagery,  and  bury  our  snags  and  dust  the  white  snow  over 
all  that  is  rugged  and  gloomy  and  ungentle. 

Or — to  revert  to  our  former  illustration,  if  we  have  hair 
on  our  heels,  which  is  best,  to  expose  it,  or,  like  the  Queen 
of  Sheba,  let  down  our  skirts  over  it  ? 

When  our  temper  is  ruffled,  we  do  not  fret  with  it  those 
we  meet — when  our  heart  is  bitter,  we  do  not  spit  our  gall 
in  the  faces  of  our  friends — when  our  blood  boils  in  our 
veins  we  are  careful  to  let  none  of  it  squirt  on  and  blister 
the  hand  that  is  extended  to  us.  A man  may  smile,  and 
smile,  and  be  a villain — that  is  true,  but  a man  or  a woman 
may  smile,  and  smile,  and  be  exceedingly  sorrowful,  may 
dance  and  laugh  with  an  aching  heart.  Who  does  not  re- 
member Andersen’s  story  of  the  little  mermaid,  who  ob- 
tained from  the  witch  power  to  shed  her  squamous  tail  at 
the  cost  of  feeling  knives  pierce  her  soles  every  footstep  she 
took  ? And  the  little  mermaid  danced  at  the  prince’s  wed- 
ding— at  the  wedding  of  the  prince  whom  she  had  once  held 
to  her  heart,  and  for  the  love  of  whom  she  had  shed  her 
fish’s  tail,  and  danced  with  a rosy  face,  though  every  step 
was  a mortal  agony.  Do  we  not  love  and  venerate  the 
little  mermaid,  because,  instead  of  howling  or  whining,  and 
holding  up  her  bleeding  soles  to  extract  commiseration  from 
all,  she  dropped  her  skirts  over  them,  and  danced  and 
warbled,  and  flushed  as  the  rose,  so  that  none  supposed  she 
leaped  with  pain,  and  sang  to  still  her  heart,  and  flushed 
with  stress  of  anguish  ? So  is  it  with  all  who  have  gone 
through  the  great  discipline  of  culture ; they  no  more  expose 
their  wounds  and  cry  out  for  sympathy  than  they  expose 
deformities. 

I remember  the  bridge  over  the  Gave  at  Pau,  on  each 
side  of  which  through  its  entire  length  sat  beggars  exhibiting 
sores  and  soliciting  alms.  But  these  were  men  and  women 
in  rags,  and  those  who  wear  only  the  rags  of  culture  do  the 


288 


ARMINELL. 


same,  they  draw  aside  their  tatters  and  expose  their  wounds 
to  our  shocked  eyes. 

But  it  is  not  so  with  such  as  have  gone  through  the  school 
and  learnt  its  lessons.  They  are  not  for  ever  obtruding 
themselves,  their  worries,  their  distresses  on  every  one  they 
meet,  their  own  proper  self  with  its  torn  veins,  and  festering 
grief,  and  distilling  blood  is  folded  over  with  silk,  and  a 
jewelled  brooch  clasps  the  lace  over  the  swelling,  suffering 
bosom,  and  all  who  see  it  admire  the  jewels  and  are  kept  in 
ignorance  of  what  is  beneath.  In  the  primitive  Church 
the  disciplina  arcani  was  enforced,  the  doctrine  of  holy  re- 
serve taught ; for  there  were  certain  mysteries  of  which  the 
faithful  were  required  to  keep  the  secret ; and  culture, 
modern  culture,  has  also  its  disciplina  arcani , its  doctrine  of 
reserve,  a reserve  to  be  observed  on  all  selfish  pains  and 
sorrows,  a mantling  over  with  a cloak  of  mystery  everything 
which  can  jar  with  the  pleasure  and  the  cheerfulness  and 
the  brightness  of  the  day  to  others. 

So,  with  a heart  quivering  with  apprehension  and  racked 
with  grief  for  Arminell,  Lady  Lamerton  moved  about  the 
terrace  with  a placid  face,  and  with  her  thoughts  apparently 
engrossed  wholly  in  making  her  guests  at  home  and  happy. 
She  insisted  on  Sir  Bosanquet  Gammon  and  the  rector  playing 
at  aunt  Sally,  whilst  Lady  Gammon  looked  on  with  a face 
green  with  horror.  She  brought  a garden  chair  herself  to 
old  and  tottery  Mrs.  Calwoodleigh,  who  was  standing  looking 
on  at  her  daughter  playing  lawn-tennis.  She  found  a timid 
little  cluster  of  husband  and  wife  and  daughters,  fresh  arrivals 
in  the  neighbourhood,  and  knowing  no  one,  and  introduced 
them  to  a dozen  nice  families.  She  broke  up  a flirtation 
with  a young  officer,  which  she  thought  undesirable,  by 
sweeping  away  with  her  the  young  Jady  into  the  orchid 
house  to  admire  a clump  of  Dissa  grandiflora . She  inter- 
rupted a political  discussion  in  the  nick  of  time,  before  the 
parties  became  angry  and  personal.  She  singled  out  a little 


ARMINELL. 


289 


old  maid  outrageously  dressed  who  was  prowling  about  the 
flowers,  and  delighted  her  by  presents  of  cuttings  and  little 
pots  of  bulbs,  more  than  she  could  carry,  but  which  the 
gardener  was  bidden  convey  to  Miss  Bligh’s  carriage.  She 
galvanised  into  life  a drooping  cluster  of  young  and  smooth 
parsons,  and  set  them  playing  La  Crosse  with  as  many 
charming  girls.  She  pointed  out  the  tables  where  were 
claret  and  champagne  cups,  strawberries  and  cream,  to 
certain  thirsty  and  heavy  souls  which  had  been  gravitating 
sideways  in  that  direction  for  some  time.  She  caught  an 
antiquary,  and  carried  him  off  to  the  end  of  the  garden  to 
show  him  a Romano-British  stone  with  ogams  nicked  at  the 
angle,  which  had  been  discovered  used  as  a footbridge,  and 
set  up  by  Lord  Lamerton  to  save  it  from  destruction. 

“ Here,  Mr.  Fothergill,  I must  leave  you  to  copy  the 
inscription.  Lady  Gammon  is  anxious  to  have  the  polarisa- 
tion of  light  explained,  and  I must  take  her  to  the  library 
for  an  encyclopaedia — fortunately  the  study  to-day  is  not 
invaded  by  the  public.” 

Behind  her  back  many  a remark  was  made  on  her  excel- 
lence as  a hostess,  her  cheerfulness,  her  amiability.  Every 
one  liked  Lady  Lamerton ; they  could  not  fail  to  do  so,  she 
took  such  pains  to  make  herself  agreeable.  Only  Arminell 
despised  her,  and  despised  her  for  those  very  qualities  which 
won  to  her  the  hearts  of  her  acquaintances.  Arminell 
thought  her  lacking  in  depth  and  sincerity.  It  was  true 
that  she  was  without  intensity  of  conviction,  but  that  was 
characteristic  of  breadth ; it  was  true  that  she  was  unreal, 
and  that  was  part  of  her  culture  ; so  to  some  folks  everything 
is  unreal  but  Zolaism,  the  Morgue,  discourtesy,  breach  of 
good  manners,  the  refuse  heap.  Man  is  unreal  clothed  in 
skin,  the  only  genuine  man  is  he  who  has  been  excoriated, 
with  every  nerve  and  muscle  and  vein  exposed ; the  canvas 
only  is  real,  not  the  Madonna  di  San  Sisto  looking  with  her 
ineffably  earnest  eyes  out  of  it ; lamp-black  and  treacle  and 


290 


ARMINELL. 


old  rags  are  the  reality,  not  the  Book  of  Psalm  and  Song, 
printed  out  of  the  former  on  the  transubstantiated  latter ; 
catgut  and  deal  and  brass  only  are  real,  not  the  symphony 
of  Beethoven,  not  the  march  from  the  Kemenate  in  “ Lohen- 
grin/’ played  on  the  instruments  manufactured  out  of  these 
vulgar  materials.  The  pelting  rain  is  real,  not  the  gilded 
evening  cloud  that  contains  the  stored  moisture ; in  a word, 
that  only  is  real,  and  commendable,  and  to  be  observed, 
which  is  gross,  material,  offensive.  I know  that  the  sweet- 
ness and  fragrance  of  that  old  culture  which  was  but  another 
name,  as  I have  already  said,  for  charity,  is  passing  away, 
like  the  rising  incense,  perhaps  again  to  be  caught  and 
scented  only  in  the  courts  of  heaven.  I know  that  it  is  in 
fashion  now  to  be  rude  and  brusque,  and  to  deny  oneself 
no  freedom,  and  exercise  on  oneself  no  restraint,  so  as  to 
be  quite  natural.  But  what  is  that  save  to  revert  to  social 
Adamanism  and  Bosjesmanism — to  savagery  in  its  basest 
and  nastiest  form- — to  renounce  the  form  as  well  as  the 
power  of  culture. 

Phaedrus  tells  in  one  of  his  fables  of  an  old  woman  who 
found  an  empty  amphora  of  old  Falernian  wine;  she  put 
her  nose  to  the  mouth  and  snuffed  and  said,  “ If  you  smell 
so  sweet  when  void,  how  sweet  you  must  be  when  full.” 

Well ! let  us  say  that  half  the  politeness  and  grace  and 
charm  of  society  is  unreal.  It  is  the  aroma  of  the  old 
Falernian.  How  much  better,  no  doubt,  if  the  vessel  be 
full  of  that  most  precious  old  Falernian,  that  perfect 
courtesy  of  heart  which  suffereth  long  and  is  kind  ; vaunteth 
not  itself,  is  not  easily  provoked,  thinketh  no  evil,  believeth 
all  things,  loveth  all  things,  endureth  all  things.  But,  I ask, 
is  not  an  empty  amphora  of  Falernian  more  grateful  than 
one  full  of  asafoetida  ? 

The  evening  light  slanted  over  the  park,  making  the 
grass  yellow  as  corn,  and  casting  purple  shadows  behind  the 
elms.  The  front  of  the  house  toward  the  terrace  was 


ARMINELL. 


29I 


glorified,  the  plate-glass  windows  gleamed  as  if  rolled  out  of 
sunlight.  The  terrace  was  alive  with  people  in  their  gayest 
dresses,  in  light  summer  colours,  pink  and  turquoise,  straw- 
berry, spring  green,  crimson  and  cream.  The  band  was 
playing,  and  the  scarlet  uniforms  of  the  military  formed  a 
brilliant  patch  of  colour  at  the  end  of  the  terrace  against  a 
bank  of  yews. 

Below  the  terrace  was  the  tennis-court,  reached  by  a 
flight  of  several  steps,  and  against  the  wall  that  upheld  the 
terrace  roses  were  trained,  and  were  in  masses  of  flower, 
scenting  the  air. 

The  lawn-tennis  ground  formed  a second  terrace  banked 
up  from  the  park  which  sloped  away  rapidly  thence  to  the 
winding  river  Ore. 

In  the  midst  of  the  flower-beds  and  moving  coloured 
kaleidoscope  of  figures  on  the  gravelled  terrace  was  a 
fountain  and  a basin.  In  the  latter  floated  water-lilies,  and 
gold  fish  darted,  and  carried  off  the  crumbs  cast  to  them. 
The  water  that  leaped  out  of  a triton’s  shell  was  turned  in 
the  evening  sun  as  it  fell,  into  amethysts. 

Away,  across  the  valley,  stood  the  little  church  with  its 
tower  peeping  out  of  limes,  now  all  alight  with  the  western 
sun  ; and  the  cock  on  its  top  was  turned  to  a bird  of  fire. 

“ Hark  ! ” exclaimed  the  rector,  “ I hear  our  bell, 
Good  heaven  ! Surely  I’ve  not  forgotten — I did  not  know 
there  was  to  be  a funeral.  I did  not  know  any  one  was 
ill — in  danger.  It  is  tolling.” 

Then  the  band,  which  had  rested  for  a moment  and 
shaken  the  moisture  out  of  their  wind  instruments,  and 
cleared  their  throats  with  iced  ale,  came  to  attention  as  the 
conductor  rattled  his  staff  on  the  music-stand,  and  beat,  one, 
two,  three,  four ! Then  with  a blast  and  crash  and  rattle — 

“ Se-e-e  the  conquer-ing  her-er-er-er-er-o  comes, 

Sou-ou-ound  the  trum-pets, 

Be-e-eat  the  drums.” 


292 


ARMINELL. 


At  that  moment,  again,  a little  hand  was  thrust  into  that 
of  Lady  Lamer  ton,  and  again  she  saw  her  boy,  Giles,  at  her 
side.  He  was  looking  pale,  and  was  crying. 

“ What  is  the  matter,  Giles  ? You  are  shivering.  Have 
you  taken  a chill?  Go  indoors,  dear.” 

“ Mamma,”  said  the  boy,  “ I want  papa.  I have  shown 
the  Fountayne  boys  my  pony  and  the  horses,  and  my  goat, 
and  rabbits,  whatever  I thought  papa  would  like  them  to 
see,  and  now  I want  papa.  Where  is  papa?  ” 

“ My  dear,  you  must  go  indoors.  What  is  that  ? In 
pity — what  is  going  on  ? Surely  the  public  are  not  going 
to  invade  the  terrace.” 

Yes — they  were. 

A large  party  had  been  shown  the  state  apartments,  had 
looked  at  the  pictures,  tried  the  sofas,  made  jokes  over  the 
family  portraits,  attempted  to  finger  the  china,  and  then 
had  assembled  at  the  drawing-room  windows  which  com- 
manded the  terrace  and  the  lawn-tennis  courts. 

“ Seeing  the  ’ouse  without  the  master,  is  like  ’ Amlet  with 
the  part  of  ’Amlet  left  out,”  observed  one  of  the  sight-seers. 
“ I say,  flunkey,  point  us  out  the  noble  lord,  and  Fli  tip  you 
a copper.” 

“ Gentlemen  and  ladies,”  said  the  august  butler,  “ I 
must  request  that  you  will  not  press  to  the  windows.  It  is 
time  to  move  on.  There  is  another  party  waiting  to  go 
over  the  house.” 

“ Ah  ! but  suppose  we  don’t  choose  to  move  on,  Old 
Heavy?  Ain’t  the  place  open  to  us  ? Was  any  time 
specified  for  us  to  be  trotted  out  ? Show  us  the  statute,” 
laughed  a lawyer’s  clerk. 

However,  after  some  urging  and  remonstrance,  the  throng 
was  got  outside  the  state  drawing-room,  into  the  entrance 
hall. 

“I  say,  you  coves!”  shouted  the  young  man  from  the 
bespoke  department  of  Messrs.  Skewes,  “ Follow  me,  and 


ARMINELL.  293 

I will  get  you  a sight  of  his  lordship  and  all  the  blue- 
blooded  aristocrats  below.” 

He  led  the  way,  and  was  followed  at  a run  to  the  glass 
door  opening  upon  the  steps  that  descended  to  the  terrace  : 
the  rush  was  so  sudden  that  the  butler  had  not  time  or 
thought  to  interpose. 

“ Hark  ! ” called  the  lawyer’s  clerk.  “ By  George,  if  the 
band  ain’t  doing  us  the  compliment  by  anticipation  of  strik- 
ing up  ‘ See  the  conquering  hero  comes  ! ’ which  means  us — 
the  British  public.  Lend  a shove,  Tommy,  and  we’ll  be 
down  among  them  and  have  some  ices  and  sherry  cobbler 
too,  and  take  a squint  at  the  noble  lord  himself.” 

A united  thrust  against  the  double  glass  doors  drove  them 
apart,  and  down  the  steps,  and  out  upon  the  terrace  poured 
the  Public. 

At  that  same  moment  the  iron  gates  were  swung  apart, 
and  another  party  entered  through  them — not  of  the  sight- 
seers, but  villagers  in  their  working  clothes  and  shirt-sleeves. 

“ See-e-e  the  conquer-ing  her-er-er-er-er-o  comes, 
Sou-ou-ourid  the  trum-pets, 

Be-e-eat  the  drums.” 

The  conductor  of  the  band  looked  round,  and  what  he 
saw  made  him  hold  up  his  staff.  The  music  instantly 
ceased. 

Also,  simultaneously,  all  talking  among  the  guests  ceased. 

Also,  instantaneously,  the  sight-seers  who  had  been  jostling 
one  another,  and  laughing  loudly,  and  egging  one  another 
on,  and  were  pouring  down  the  steps,  halted  and  ceased  to 
be  heard. 

Nothing,  indeed,  was  heard  but  the  toll  of  the  distant 
bell,  and  the  crunch  of  the  gravel  under  the  feet  of  the 
advancing  party  of  villagers. 

The  fish  of  the  three  ponds  had  mixed  for  once,  and  were 
silent  in  the  presence  of  the  all  conquering  hero  to  whom  all 
submit — Death. 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 


HOW  IT  CAME  ABOUT. 

“ I wonder  now/’  said  Mrs.  Saltren  to  herself,  “ whatever 
has  made  the  raspberry  jam  so  mouldy?  Was  the  fruit  wet 
when  it  was  picked?  I cannot  remember.  If  it  was,  it 
weren’t  my  fault,  but  the  weather  on  which  no  one  can 
depend.  I wanted  to  send  up  some  to  Tryphoena  Welsh, 
but  now  I can’t,  unless  I spoon  off  the  mould  on  the  top 
of  one  and  fill  up  from  the  bottom  of  another.  It  is  a pity 
and  a waste  of  confidence  and  a sapping  of  faith  when  one 
goes,  makes  jams,  and  spends  coals  and  sugar  and  a lot  of 
perspiration,  and  gets  nothing  for  it  but  mould  an  inch  thick. 
I must  send  Tryphoena  Welsh  something,  for  if  Giles,  as  he 
tells  me,  has  gone  to  take  up  with  writing  for  the  papers, 
he’ll  need  the  help  of  James,  and  there’s  no  way  of  getting 
at  men’s  hearts  but  through  their  stomachs.  It  was  tiresome 
Giles  writing  to  my  brother  and  not  saying  a word  to  me 
about  it.  I could  have  told  him  James  was  not  in  town,  so 
no  need  for  him  to  address  a letter  to  him  at  Shepherd’s 
Bush ; he  went,  after  seeing  us,  to  stay  with  one  literary 
friend  and  then  another,  so  he  won’t  have  Giles’  letter  till 
he  returns  to  town.  That  accounts  for  my  boy  receiving  no 
answer.  Giles  never  saw  him  when  he  was  here,  which  was 
tiresome.  It  is  vexing  too  about  the  hams.  I’d  have  sent 
one  up  to  James,  if  they  had  not  been  spoiled,  along  of  the 
knuckles  being  outside  the  bags,  so  that  the  flies  walked  in 
as  they  might  at  a house  door.  I pickled  those  hams  in 


ARMINELL. 


295 


treacle  and  ale  and  juniper.  I made  paper  bags  for  them, 
and  what  more  could  I do  ? It  was  no  fault  of  mine  if  the 
hams  got  spoiled.  It  was  the  fault  of  the  hams  being  too 
big  for  my  paper  bags,  so  that  the  bone  stuck  out.  And 
then  the  weather — it  was  encouraging  to  the  flies.  After 
the  raspberry  jam  and  the  hams,  one  wants  comfort.  Til 
get  a drop.” 

But  before  she  had  reached  the  corner  cupboard,  the  door 
opened,  and  her  husband  came  in,  looking  more  strange, 
white,  and  wild  than  ever.  He  staggered  to  the  table, 
rolling  in  his  walk  as  if  he  were  drunk,  and  held  to  the 
furniture  to  stay  himself,  fearing  to  take  a step  unsupported. 
His  face  was  so  livid,  his  eyes  so  full  of  something  like  terror, 
that  a thrill  of  fear  ran  through  Mrs.  Saltren — she  thought 
he  was  mad. 

“ What  is  it,  Saltren  ? Why  do  you  look  at  me  in  that 
fashion  ? I was  not  going  to  my  cupboard  for  anything  but 
my  knitting.  I said  to  myself,  I will  knit  a warm  jersey  for 
Giles  against  the  winter,  and  I put  the  pins  and  the  wool  in 
there.  Now  don’t  look  so  queer.  Are  you  ill?” 

“ Marianne,”  he  said  slowly,  then  drew  a long  breath  that 
sounded  hoarsely  in  his  throat  as  he  inhaled  it,  “ Marianne, 
you  are  avenged.” 

“ What  do  you  mean?  Are  you  referring  to  the  hams 
or  the  raspberry  jam  ? ” 

“ Marianne,”  he  repeated,  “ the  word  has  come  to  pass. 
The  hand  has  been  stretched  forth  and  has  smitten  the  evil 
doer.  The  mighty  is  cast  out  of  his  seat  and  laid  even  with 
the  dust.” 

“ I don’t  know  what  you’re  a-talking  about,  Stephen  I 
concern  myself  about  common  things,  and  about  prophecy 
no  more  than  I do  about  moonshine.  The  jams  get  mouldy 
and  the  hams  ain’t  fit  to  eat.” 

“ Did  I not  tell  you,  Marianne,  of  what  I saw  and  heard 
that  Sabbath  day  ? ” 


296 


ARMINELL. 


“ I gave  no  heed  to  it.” 

“ It  is  fulfilled.  The  purposes  of  heaven  fulfil  themselves 
in  a wonderful  and  unexpected  way  when  we  are  least 
awaiting  it.  He  is  dead.” 

“ Who  is  dead  ? ” 

“ Lord  Lamerton.” 

“ Lord  Lamerton  ! ” Marianne  Saltren  started. 

“How  is  it  that?  Where,  Stephen,  and  when?” 

“ He  is  lying  dead  beneath  the  cliff.” 

“Good  heavens  ! How  came  that  about  ? ” 

“ He  was  cast  down  by  the  hand  of  an  avenging  justice. 
You  have  been  avenged.” 

“ I — I have  nothing  to  complain  of — to  have  avenged  on 
Lord  Lamerton.” 

“ Nothing  of  late,  but  you  told  me  of  the  dishonour,  of 
the  wrong — ” 

Mrs.  Saltren  uttered  a cry  of  horror. 

“Stephen,  for  God’s  sake! — you  do  not  mean? — you 
know,  you  know  that  I named  no  names.” 

“ I knew,  Marianne,  to  whom  you  referred.  I knew  it  at 
once.  Then  I understood  why  you  gave  your  son  the 
Christian  name  he  bears.” 

“ Oh,  Stephen,  it  was  not  that.” 

“Yes,  Marianne,  it  was.  It  all  hangs  together.  I saw 
how  he,  Lord  Lamerton,  was  constrained  to  make  much  of 
the  boy,  to  spend  money  on  him,  to  educate  and  make  a 
gentleman  of  him,  and  take  him  into  his  house.” 

“ Stephen  ! Stephen  ! this  is  all  a mistake.” 

“ No,  Marianne,  it  is  no  mistake.  I see  it  all  as  plainly 
as  I saw  the  angel  flying  in  the  midst  of  heaven  bearing  the 
Everlasting  Gospel  in  his  right  hand,  which  he  cast  into  the 
water  before  me.” 

“I  was  talking  nonsense.  Iam — Oh,  Stephen!  What 
did  you  say  ? — he — Lord  Lamerton  is  not  dead  ? ” 

“ He  is  dead.  He  is  lying  dead  on  the  path.” 


ARMINELL. 


297 


Mrs.  Saltren  was  seized  with  a fit  of  trembling,  as  if  an 
ague  were  come  over  her.  She  stared  at  her  husband, 
terror-stricken,  and  could  not  speak.  A horrible  thought,  a 
sickening  dread,  had  swept  over  her,  and  she  shrank  from 
asking  a question  which  might  receive  an  answer  confirming 
her  half-formulated  fears. 

“ The  judgment  has  tarried  long,  but  the  sentence  has 
overtaken  the  sinner  at  last.  Now,  after  all,  he  has  been 
made  to  suffer  for  what  he  once  did  to  you.  He  cast  you 
down,  and  with  like  measure  has  it  been  meted  to  him. 
He  is  cast  down.” 

“ He  did  nothing  to  me.” 

“ You  are  ready  to  forgive  him  now,  and  to  forget  the 
past,  because  you  are  a Christian.  But  eternal  justice 
never  forgets,  it  waits  and  watches,  and  when  least  ex- 
pected, strikes  down.” 

“Oh,  Stephen!  What  are  you  thinking  of?  You 
listened  to  my  idle  talk.  You  fancy  that  Lord  Lamerton 
was — was  the  father  of  Giles,  but  he  was  not.  Indeed, 
indeed,  he  was  not.” 

“ He  was  not  ! ” echoed  the  captain,  standing  stiffly  with 
outstretched  arms  and  clenched  fists,  a queer  ungainly 
figure,  jointless,  as  if  made  of  wooden  sticks.  “ You  your- 
self told  me  that  he  was.” 

“I  named  no  names.  Indeed  I never  said  he  was — why, 
Stephen,  how  could  he  have  been,  when  you  know  as  well 
as  I do,  that  he  was  out  of  England  for  three  years  at  that 
time ; he  was  attache  as  they  call  it  at  the  embassy  in — I 
forget,  some  German  Court,  whilst  I was  at  Orleigh  with 
the  dowager  Lady  Lamerton.” 

The  captain  stood  still,  thinking,  as  one  frozen  and  fast 
to  the  spot. 

“ Besides,”  put  in  the  woman,  with  a flicker  of  her  old 
inordinate  vanity  and  falsehood,  in  spite  of  her  present  fear, 


298 


ARMINELL. 


“ you  think  very  bad  of  me  if  you  suppose  I’d  have  took  u[i 
with  any  one  less  than  a viscount.” 

A long  silence  ensued,  in  which  the  tick  of  the  clock 
sounded  loudly  and  harshly. 

“ Marianne,”  he  said  at  last  hoarsely. 

“ It  is  all  your  fault  and  stupidity,”  said  his  wife  hastily. 
‘You  have  no  judgment,  and  a brain  on  fire  with  religious 
craze.  If  you  would  but  behave  like  an  ordinary,  sensible 
man  and  think  reasonably,  you  would  never  have  fallen  in- 
to this  mistake.  You  had  only  to  think  a moment  reason- 
ably, and  you’d  know  that  it  was  not,  and  could  not  be  a 
man,  and  he  only  the  honourable,  and  like  to  be  no  better 
than  a baron,  many  hundred  miles  away  at  a foreign  court, 
and  the  postage  then  not  twopence  ha’penny  as  ’tis 
now.” 

“ Marianne,”  said  Saltren  again  hoarsely,  and  he  took  a 
step  nearer  to  her,  and  grasped  her  wrist.  “ Marianne, 
answer  me.”  Saltren  spoke  with  a wild  flicker  in  his  eyes 
as  though  jack-o-lanterns  were  dancing  over  those  deep 
mysterious  pools,  “ as  you  will  have  to  answer  at  the  great 
day  of  account — is  Giles  not  the  son  of  Lord  Lamerton?” 
“Of  course  not,  I never  said  so.  Who  but  a fool 
would  suppose  he  was,  and  a week’s  post  and  foreign 
languages  between  ? He  never  left — Munich  I think  it 
was,  but  it  may  have  been  Munchausen,  and  I never  left 
Orleigh  all  the  three  years.  Besides — I never  said  it  was. 
I named  no  names.” 

Now  a shudder  ran  through  Saltren,  a convulsive  quake, 
but  it  was  over  instantaneously.  Then,  with  his  iron  hand  he 
pressed  the  woman’s  wrist  downwards. 

“ Kneel,”  he  said,  “kneel.” 

“You  are  hurting  me,  Stephen  ! let  go  !” 

“ Kneel,”  he  repeated,  “ kneel.” 

He  forced  her  from  her  feet  to  her  knees,  before  him ; 
she  was  too  frightened  to  disobey ; and  her  vain  efforts  to 


ARMINELL. 


299 


parry  reproof,  and  lay  the  blame  on  him,  had  been  without 
success,  he  had  not  noticed  even  the  mean  evasions. 

“ Marianne,”  he  said  solemnly,  in  his  deepest,  most 
tremulous  tones.  “ Tell  me — who  was  the  father  of 
Giles  ? ” 

“ That  I will  not — never — no,  I cannot  tell.” 

“ You  shall,  I will  hold  you  here,  with  my  hand  clenched, 
and  not  let  you  go — No,  never,  not  all  the  coming  night, 
not  all  next  day,  all  the  night  following — for  ever,  and  ever, 
until  you  confess.” 

She*  stooped  towards  the  floor,  to  hide  her  face  from  his 
searching  eyes,  with  the  lambent  flame  in  them  that 
frightened  her.  Then  she  looked  furtively  towards  the 
window,  and  next  to  the  door,  into  the  back  kitchen,  seek- 
ing means  of  escape. 

“ It  is  vain  for  you  to  try  to  get  away,”  said  the  captain 
slowly.  “ Here  I hold  you,  and  tighten  my  grasp,  till  you 
scream  out  the  truth.  They  used  to  do  that  in  England. 
They  slipped  the  hands  in  iron  gloves  and  the  feet  in  iron 
boots,  and  screwed  till  the  blood  ran  out  of  fingers  and 
foot-ends,  and  the  criminal  told  the  truth.  So  will  I screw 
the  truth  out  of  you,  out  of  your  hands.  You  cannot 
escape.  Was  the  father  of  Giles  a nobleman  ? ” 

“ He  was  not  the  highest  of  all — not  a duke.” 

“ What  was  he  then  ? ” 

She  was  silent,  and  strove  to  twist  her  hands  away.  He 
held  both  now.  He  compressed  his  clutch.  She  cried  out, 
“ I cannot  bear  this.” 

“ What  was  his  title  ? ” 

“ You  are  hurting  me,  Stephen.” 

“ Was  he  a nobleman  at  all  ? ” 

With  hesitation,  and  another  writhe  to  get  away — “ N— 
no.” 

“ Then,  all  that  story  you  told  of  the  deception  practised 
upon  you  was  a lie  0 ” 


300 


ARMINELL. 


“Not  a lie — it  was  a joke.  James  was  not  such  a fool 
as  you,  he  took  it  as  such.  But  you — ” 

Then  Stephen  Saltren  drew  his  wife  to  her  feet,  and 
strode  to  the  door,  dragging  her  with  him.  She  screamed. 
She  supposed  he  was  about  to  kill  her ; but  he  turned,  and 
said  gloomily,  “ I will  not  hurt  you,  I want  to  show  you 
what  you  have  done — with  your  joke” 

He  forced  open  the  door,  and  drew  her  through  the 
garden,  out  at  the  wicket  gate,  along  the  path,  up  the 
coombe.  There  was  two  ways  thence  to  Orleigh  Park,  one 
down  the  coombe  to  the  main  valley  and  high-road,  and 
round  a shoulder  of  hill ; the  other  way  by  a steep  climb  up 
a zig-zag  path  in  the  side  of  the  hill  to  the  top  of  the  crag, 
thence  over  a stretch  of  some  thirty  acres  of  furzy  down 
into  the  plantations  and  so  into  the  park  through  them. 
The  tortuous  ascent  began  at  the  cottage,  Chillacot,  but 
Saltren  drew  his  wife  past  the  point  whence  it  rose  to  where 
the  evening  sun  cast  the  black  shadow  of  the  crag  or 
“cleave”  across  the  glen,  and  there — lying  on  broken, 
fallen  stones,  with  his  hands  outstretched,  his  face  to  the 
clear  sky,  lay  Lord  Lamerton,  dead. 

Marianne  Saltren  cowered  back,  she  was  too  frightened 
♦by  what  she  saw  to  care  to  approach  ; but  her  husband’s 
vice-like  grasp  did  not  relax  for  all  her  weeping  and  en- 
treaties. He  compelled  her  to  come  close  to  the  fallen 
man. 

His  finger  ends  buried  themselves  in  her  wrists,  and 
checked  her  pulse,  that  her  hands  became  numb,  and 
tingled. 

He  remained  silent,  for  long,  looking  at  the  dead  man, 
his  own  face  scarcely  less  white,  his  muscles  hardly  less 
rigid,  his  features  as  set,  and  more  drawn.  There  was  no 
sunlight  in  the  narrow  valley  where  they  stood  under  the 
great  slate  cleave,  but  above  at  the  edge  of  the  opposite  hill 
were  gorse  bushes  so  covered  with  golden  bloom  that  they 


ARMINELL. 


301 


seemed  to  be  but  one  yellow  flower,  and  on  them  the  even- 
ing sun  rested  lovingly.  Above,  ghost-like  in  the  blue  sky, 
was  a filmy  disc — the  moon,  only  perceivable  from  the  deep 
valley,  unseen  by  those  who  stood  in  the  sunlight.  The 
rooks  were  congregating  in  the  wood  at  the  bottom  of  the 
valley.  That  wood  was  a favourite  resort  to  which  the 
birds  from  several  rookeries  came  every  evening  before  set 
of  sun,  and  chattered  incessantly,  and  made  as  much  noise 
as  if  they  were  members  of  the  House  of  Commons  discus- 
sing Irish  matters.  The  sound  issuing  from  that  wood  was 
strident  like  the  rattle  of  a lawn-mower. 

A blue-bottle  fly  was  buzzing  round  the  dead  man.  Sal- 
tren  saw  it,  it  made  him  uneasy ; he  let  go  one  of  his  wife’s 
hands  and  with  his  disengaged  hand  drew  his  kerchief  from 
his  throat,  a black  silk  one,  and  whisked  it  to  and  fro,  to 
drive  away  the  insect.  “ I cannot  tell,”  he  said,  “ heaven 
knows.  If  it  had  not  been  for  what  you  said,  for  your 
amusing  joke,  he  might  now  be  living.  I cannot  tell.  The 
ways  of  Providence  are  dark.  We  are  but  instruments 
used,  and  not  knowing  for  what  purposes  used.  I cannot 
tell.” 

He  put  the  kerchief  to  his  face  and  wiped  it. 

44 1 was  yonder,”  he  pointed  upwards  with  his  chin,  and 
then  whisked  his  kerchief  in  the  direction  of  the  top  of  the 
cliff.  “ I was  on  the  down,  and  when  I least  expected  it, 
and  at  the  moment  when  I was  not  thinking  of  him,  I saw 
him  striding  towards  me,  and  when  he  came  up  with  me, 
he  was  out  of  breath.  I was  standing  then  at  the  edge  of 
the  cleave.  I was  looking  down  into  the  coombe  at  my 
house,  and  I was  in  a dream.  When  I saw  him,  I did  not 
stir.  I would  not  go  to  meet  him.  I let  him  come  to  me. 
And  when  I saw  him  turn  out  of  his  path  and  cross  the 
down  to  me,  then  I knew  the  hand  out  of  the  clouds  pointed 
the  way,  and  he  followed  not  knowing  to  what  it  pointed. 
He  came  close  to  me,  to  the  very  edge  of  the  rock,  and  I 


3°2 


ARMINELL. 


did  not  budge  one  inch.  He  had  been  walking  fast,  and 
spoke  pantingly,  in  a strangely  mixed  manner,  and  he  asked 
some  question  about  Giles.  I do  not  remember  what  he 
asked,  but  at  the  sound  of  his  voice  and  of  that  name,  then 
the  fire  that  was  in  my  heart  broke  out,  and  I was  blind 
and  mad.  My  blood  roared  in  my  ears  and  head,  as  the 
sea  roars  and  beats  against  the  coast  in  a gale.  Then  I 
shouted  out  all  I knew ; I told  him  that  Giles  was  his  son, 
and  that  God  would  call  him  to  account  for  his  sins  and  his 
injustice  and  cruelties;  and  he  was  as  one  amazed,  that 
neither  spoke  nor  moved  till  I raised  my  hand  to  strike 
him  on  the  breast  to  rouse  him  to  answer,  and  then  before 
ever  I touched  him,  he  stepped  back  and  went  over  the 
cleave.” 

Then  Marianne  Saltren  uttered  a piercing  shriek  and 
tossed,  and  put  her  teeth  to  her  husband’s  hand  to  bite  at 
the  fingers  and  force  them  to  relax  their  grasp. 

“ There  are  people  coming,”  she  screamed,  “ I will  tell 
them  all  that  you  killed  him.  Let  me  go.  I cannot  bear 
your  touch.” 

“ You  accursed  woman,  you  daughter  of  the  old  father  of 
lies,”  said  Saltren  between  his  teeth,  and  the  bubbles  formed 
in  his  mouth  as  he  spoke  through  his  teeth,  “ I will  not  let 
you  go  till  you  have  told  me  who  was  the  father  of  Giles.” 

Suddenly,  however,  he  let  go  her  wrist,  but  she  had  her 
liberty  for  a moment  only.  He  had  drawn  his  black  silk 
neckerchief  round  her  throat,  and  twisted  the  ends  about 
his  fingers  under  her  chin. 

“ Marianne,  I killed  him.  Yet  not  I.  I am  but  the  ex- 
ecutioner under  Providence.  What  heaven  judges  that  I 
carry  out.  And  now  I do  not  care  if  I kill  you,  after  I 
killed  him.  I will  kill  you,  I will  strangle  you,  unless  you 
confess  who  was  the  father  of  Giles.” 

He  was  capable  of  doing  what  he  threatened. 

“ It  were  best  for  you,”  he  said,  “ wicked  woman,  to 


ARMINELL. 


3°3 


suffer  here  a little  pain,  than  burn  eternally.  Confess,  or  I 
will  send  you  into  the  world  beyond.”  She  was  quiet  for  a 
moment,  desisting  from  her  useless  struggle. 

“You  will  release  me  if  I say  ? ” 

“ I will  do  so.” 

“ He  was  a wonderfully  handsome  man  then,  a very  fine 
fellow,  the  handsomest  I ever  saw.” 

“ Who  was  he  ? ” 

“ There  were  others  besides  me  lost  their  hearts  to  him.” 
“ Who  was  he  ? ” 

“ I hear  voices  below  the  house.  People  are  coming. 
You  will  be  taken  and  hung  because  you  killed  him.” 

“ Who  was  he  ? ” 

Saltren  did  not  move  a muscle.  “ Let  them  come,  and 
they  will  find  you  dead  also,  beside  him.” 

“ You  cannot  judge  of  what  he  was  by  what  he  is  now.” 

“ His  name  ? ” 

Again  she  looked  to  right  and  left,  in  spite  of  the  grip 
under  her  chin,  and  made  a start  to  escape,  but  instantly 
he  tightened  the  kerchief  and  she  became  red  as  blood. 

“ Marianne,”  said  Saltren.  “ His  name  ? ” 

He  relaxed  the  pressure.  She  listened,  no — she  heard 
no  voices,  only  mingled  cawing  of  rooks  and  thumping  of 
pulses  in  her  ears. 

“ If  you  must  know  ? ” 

“ I must.” 

“ It  was — Samuel  Ceely.” 


CHAPTER  XXXTT. 


A PLACE  OF  REFUGE. 

He  thrust  her  away  from  him  with  an  exclamation  of  dis- 
gust. Then  he  stooped.  A tuft  of  meadow-sweet  grew 
among  the  stones  where  the  dead  man  lay,  and  its  white 
flowers  were  full  of  pollen^  rnd  the  pollen,  shaken  from 
them,  had  fallen,  and  formed  a dust  over  the  upturned  face. 

Captain  Saltren  drew  his  black  silk  kerchief  over  the  dead 
man’s  brow,  and  wiped  away  the  powder,  and  as  he  did  so 
was  aware  that  the  blue-blottle  had  returned ; he  heard  its 
drone,  he  saw  its  glazed  metallic  back,  as  it  flickered  about 
the  body.  Then  he  turned  and  went  away,  but  had  not 
gone  far  before  he  halted  and  came  back,  for  he  thought  of 
the  insect.  That  fly  teased  his  mind,  it  was  as  though  it 
buzzed  about  his  brain,  then  perched  and  ran  over  it, 
irritating  the  nerves  with  its  hasty  movement  of  the  many 
feet,  and  the  tap  of  its  proboscis.  He  could  not  endure 
the  thought  of  that  fly — therefore  he  went  back,  and  stood 
sweeping  with  his  kerchief  up  and  down  over  the  face  and 
then  the  hands,  protecting  the  body  against  the  blue-bottle. 

He  heard  his  wife  running  away,  crying  for  help.  He 
knew  that  before  long  she  would  have  collected  assistants 
to  come  to  remove  the  dead  body.  They  would  find  him 
there  ; and  was  it  safe  for  him  to  be  seen  in  close  proximity 
to  the  man  he  had  killed  ? 

He  knew  that  he  ought  to  go.  He  had  a horror  of  being 
there,  alone  with  the  corpse.  Again  he  took  a few  steps  to 


ARMINELL. 


3°5 


leave  it,  but,  looking  back  over  his  shoulder,  he  saw  the 
blue-bottle  settle  on  the  forehead,  then  run  down  along  the 
nose  to  the  lips  of  the  dead  man,  and  he  went  back  to 
drive  the  creature  away  once  more.  Presently  he  heard 
voices,  not  those  now  of  cawing  rooks,  but  of  men.  But 
he  could  not  stir  from  the  place.  He  would  be  committing 
a sin,  an  unpardonable  sin,  a sin  from  which  his  soul  could 
not  cleanse  itself  by  floods  of  penitential  tears,  were  he  to 
allow  the  blue-bottle  to  deposit  its  eggs  between  those  dead 
lips.  His  mind  was  unsettled.  Now  and  then  only  did  he 
think  of  himself  as  endangered,  and  feel  an  impulse  to 
escape  ; and  yet  the  impulse  was  not  strong  enough  to 
overcome  his  anxiety  to  protect  the  body.  He  did  not 
consider  the  future,  whether  he  had  occasion  to  fear  for 
himself,  whether  he  would  be  put  on  his  defence. 

After  a flood  we  find  backwaters  where  promiscuous 
matter  drifts  in  circles — straw,  snags  of  wood,  a dead  sheep, 
a broken  chair ; so  was  it  in  the  mind  of  Stephen  Saltren. 
His  ideas  were  thrown  into  confusion ; thoughts  and 
fancies,  most  varied  and  incongruous,  jostled  each  other, 
without  connection.  The  discovery  that  his  wife  had  lied 
to  him  in  the  matter  of  the  parentage  of  Giles  and  the  guilt 
of  Lord  Lamerton,  following  on  the  excitement  in  which  he 
had  been  through  the  encounter  with  his  enemy,  had  sufficed 
to  paralyse  his  judgment,  and  make  his  thoughts  swerve 
about  incoherently. 

He  was  aware  that  he  had  committed  a great  mistake,  he 
knew  that  his  position  was  precarious  ; but  his  confidence 
in  his  vision,  and  the  mission  with  which  he  was  entrusted 
remained  unshaken,  and  this  confidence  justified  to  his 
conscience  the  crime  that  he  had  committed,  if,  indeed,  he 
had  committed  one.  But  in  the  gyration  of  thoughts  in  his 
brain,  only  one  fact  stood  out  clearly — that  a blue-bottle  fly 
menaced  the  corpse,  and  that  it  was  his  duty  to  drive  the 
insect  away. 

u 


3°6 


ARMINELL. 


He  was  engaged  on  this  obligation,  when  a hand  touched 
him,  and  on  looking  round  he  saw  Patience  Kite. 

“ Captain  Saltren,”  said  the  woman,  “ why  are  you  here  ? 
I saw  you  both  on  top  of  the  cleave,  and  I do  know  that 
he  did  not  fall  by  chance.  I will  not  tell  of  you.” 

Pie  looked  at  her  with  blank  eyes. 

“ Others  may  have  seen  you  besides  myself.  You  must 
not  be  found  here.” 

“ I am  glad,”  said  he,  dreamily,  talking  to  himself,  not  to 
her,  “ I am  glad  that  I had,  myself,  no  occasion  against 
him.  I thought  I had,  but  I had  not.” 

“Come  with  me,”  said  Mrs.  Kite,  “folks  are  near  at 
hand.  I hear  them.” 

He  looked  wistfully  at  the  dead  face. 

“ I cannot,”  he  said. 

“ What ! Do  you  want  to  be  taken  by  the  police  ? ” 

“I  cannot — 1 am  held  by  the  blue-bottle.”  In  a moment 
she  stooped,  snapped  her  hands  together  and  caught  the 
fly. 

“ Now,”  said  Saltren,  “ I will  follow.  It  was  not  I,  I am 
1 ut  the  miserable  instrument.  The  hand  did  it  that  brought 
him  my  way,  that  led  him  to  the  edge,  and  that  then  laid 
hold  of  my  arm.” 

Patience  caught  him  by  the  shoulder  and  urged  him 

away. 

“ You  must  not  be  seen  near  the  body.  Take  my  advice 
and  be  off  to  Captain  Tubb  about  some  lime,  and  so  estab- 
lish an  alibi.” 

Saltren  shook  his  head. 

“ If  not,  then  come  along  with  me.  I will  show  you  a 
hiding-place  no  one  thinks  of.  P'olks  could  not  tell  how  to 
take  it.  when  they  didn't  find  me  lying  buried  under  the  fallen 
chimney ; but  when  I saw  it  was  cracking,  I made  off 
through  the  dust,  and  none  saw  me  escape.  At  the  night- 
meeting some  thought,  when  I stood  on  the  table  behind 


ARMINELL. 


3°7 


you,  that  I was  a spirit.  You  can  feel  my  grip  on  your 
arm,  that  I am  in  the  flesh  and  hearty.  I set  Are  to  the 
tumbled  thatch.  It  does  good  to  scare  folks  at  times.” 

She  drew  Saltren  into  the  wood.  From  a vantage  point 
on  the  other  side  of  the  valley  from  that  of  the  crag,  them 
selves  screened  from  sight,  they  could  see  a cluster  of  men 
about  the  dead  body  of  Lord  Lamerton,  and  Mrs.  Saltren 
gesticulating  behind  them. 

“ I wonder,”  said  Patience  Kite,  “ whether  that  wife  of 
yours  be  a fool  or  not  ? Your  safety,  I reckon,  depends  on 
her  tongue.  If  she  has  sense,  she  will  say  she  found  the 
dead  lord  as  she  was  going  to  fetch  water.  If  she’s  a fool 
she’ll  let  out  about  you.  Did  any  one  see  you  on  the 
down  ? ” 

“ I think  Macduff  went  by  some  time  before.” 

“ Yes — I saw’n  go  along.  That  was  some  while  afore.” 

Saltren  said  nothing.  He  was  less  concerned  about  his 
own  safety  than  Mrs.  Kite  supposed.  He  was  intently 
watching  the  men  raise  the  dead  body. 

“ It  is  a pity,”  pursued  Mrs.  Kite,  “ because  if  you  hadn’t 
been  seen  by  Mr.  Macduff,  I might  have  sworn  you  a famous 
alibi,  and  made  out  you  was  helping  me  to  move  my  furni- 
ture. Thomasine  also,  she’d  ha’  sworn  anything  in  reason 
to  do  you  a good  turn.  What  a sad  job  it  was  that  you 
didn’t  chuck  over  Macduff  as  well.  But  there — I won’t 
blame  you.  We  none  of  us,  as  the  parson  says,  do  all  those 
things  we  ought  to  do,  but  leave  undone  what  we  ought. 
Thomasine  and  I’d  swear  against  Mr.  Macduff,  but  I doubt 
it  would  do  no  good,  as  Mrs.  Macduff  keeps  a victoria  and 
drives  about  in  it,  and  we  don’t,  so  the  judge  would  have 
respect  to  the  witness  of  Macduff  and  disregard  ours.  And 
yet  they  say  there  is  justice  and  righteousness  in  the  world  ! — 
when  our  testimony  would  not  be  taken  and  Macduff’s  ac- 
cepted, along  of  a victoria.” 

She  caught  Saltren’s  arm  again,  and  led  him  further  into 


3°8 


ARMINELL. 


the  wood,  along  a path  that  seemed  to  be  no  path  at  all  for 
a man  to  walk,  but  rather  a run  for  a rabbit.  The  bushes 
closed  over  a mere  track  in  the  moss. 

“ 1 reckon/5  muttered  Patience,  “ there’ll  be  a rare  fuss 
made  about  the  death  of  his  lordship  ; but  how  little  account 
was  made  of  that  of  young  Tubb.  That  was  a cruel  loss  to 
Thomasine  and  me.  My  daughter  and  he  were  sweethearts. 
Captain  Tubb  was  going  to  take  the  boy  on  as  a hand  at 
the  lime  quarry ; he  could  not  earn  twenty  shillings  in  a 
trade,  so  he  would  get  fifteen  as  a labourer.  Well — he 
could  have  married  and  kept  house  on  that.  Either  he  and 
my  girl  would  have  lived  with  me  or  with  his  father.  Macduff 
and  Lord  Lamerton  spoiled  the  chance  for  me  and  them. 
I owe  them  both  a grudge,  and  I thank  you  for  paying  off 
my  score  on  his  lordship.  Macduff  may  wait.  In  fall  I 
will  make  a clay  figure  of  him  and  stick  pins  in  it,  and  give 
him  rheumatic  pains  and  spasms  of  the  heart.  Whatever 
parsons  and  doctors  may  say,  I can  do  things  which  are  not 
to  be  found  in  books,  and  there  is  more  learning  than  is  got 
by  scholarship.” 

Mrs.  Kite  paused  and  looked  round. 

“ You’ve  not  been  about  in  the  woods,  creeping  on  all 
fours  as  I have,  through  the  coppice.  I know  my  way  even 
in  the  dark.  I can  tell  it  by  the  feel  of  the  stems  of  oak. 
Where  there  is  moss,  that  is  the  side  to  the  sou’-west  wind 
and  rain.  The  other  side  is  smooth.  So  one  can  get  along 
in  the  dark.  What  a moyle  there  will  be  over  the  death  of 
his  lordship  all  because  he  was  a lord,  and  there  was  nothing 
made  of  the  death  of  Arkie,  because  he  was  nobody. 
There  is  no  justice  and  righteousness  in  the  world,  or  Mr. 
Macduff  would  be  wearing  bracelets  now  and  expecting  a 
hempen  necklace.  Here  we  are  at  my  cottage  that  he  and 
his  lordship  tore  down.” 

They  emerged  suddenly  on  the  glade  where  stood  the 
ruins.  No  one  was  visible.  It  remained  as  it  had  been 


ARMINELL.  309 

left,  save  that  the  fallen  rafters  and  walls  were  blackened  by 
the  smoke  of  the  up-flaming  thatch. 

Patience  did  not  tarry  at  the  hovel,  but  led  the  way  to  the 
quarry  edge. 

“Do  you  see  here,”  she  said,  “you  take  hold  of  the  ivy 
ropes,  and  creep  along  after  me.  It  is  not  hard  to  do  when 
you  know  the  way.  Miss  Arminell  first  led  me  to  the  Owl’s 
Nest.  One  Sunday  she  came  here,  and  holding  the  ivy, 
got  along  to  the  cave,  and  then  let  go  the  rope.  I went 
after  her ; and  when  my  house  was  being  pulled  down 
about  my  head,  then  I remembered  the  cave,  and  went  to  it 
in  the  same  way.  Since  then  I have  moved  most  of  my 
things  I want,  and  Thomasine  has  helped  me.  But  she 
couldn’t  come  till  her  foot  was  better,  along  the  edge  where 
we  shall  go.  What  I cannot  carry  we  let  down  from  above 
by  a rope,  and  I draw  them  in  to  me  with  a crooked  stick. 
I shall  have  to  pay  no  ground  rent  for  that  habitation,  and  I 
defy  Mr.  Macduff  to  pull  the  roof  down  on  me.  It  is  a tidy, 
comfortable  place,  in  the  eye  of  the  sun.  What  I shall  do 
in  winter  I cannot  tell,  but  it  serves  me  well  enough  as  a 
summer  house.  If  I want  to  bake,  1 have  my  old  oven  in 
the  back  kitchen.  Now  lay  hold  of  the  ivy  bands  and 
come  after  me.  I will  show  you  where  you  can  lie  hid 
when  there  is  danger  at  Chillacot.” 

Saltren  followed  her,  and  in  a few  minutes  found  himself 
in  the  cave.  She  had  hung  an  old  potato  sack  half  way 
down  the  hollow,  and  behind  this  she  had  made  her  bed 
and  stored  her  treasures. 

“ No  one  can  visit  me  whom  I do  not  choose  to  receive,” 
said  Mrs.  Kite.  “ If  I should  see  a face  come  round  the 
corner,  the  way  we  came,  I’d  have  but  to  give  a thrust,  as 
that  you  gave  his  lordship,  and  down  he  would  go.  Now  I 
will  return.  You  remain  here.  See,  1 crook  the  ivy  chains 
over  this  prong  of  rock  when  I am  here.  Whatever  you  do, 
mind  and  do  not  let  the  chains  fall  away.  If  you  do,  you’re 


ARMINELL. 


a prisoner  till  I release  you.  That  is  how  Miss  Arminell 
was  caught.  I’ll  run  and  see  what  is  going  on,  and  bring 
you  word.” 

The  old  woman  unhooked  sufficient  strands  of  ivy  to 
support  herself,  and  went  lightly  and  easily  along  the  face 
of  the  rock. 

Saltren  remained  standing.  He  had  his  hands  linked 
behind  his  back,  and  his  head  projecting.  He  had  not  re- 
covered balance  of  mind  ; his  thoughts  were  like  hares  in 
poachers’  gate-nets — entangled,  leaping,  turning  over,  and 
working  themselves,  in  their  efforts  after  freedom,  into  more 
inextricable  entanglement.  But  one  idea  gradually  formed 
itself  distinctly  in  his  mind — the  idea  that  he  had  not  been 
wronged  by  Lord  Lamerton  in  the  way  in  which  he  had  sup- 
posed, and  that,  therefore,  all  personal  feeling  against  him  dis- 
appeared. But,  in  the  confusion  of  his  brain,  he  carried  back 
this  idea  to  a period  before  he  discovered  that  he  had  been 
deceived  by  his  wife  into  feeling  this  grudge,  and  he  justified 
his  action  to  himself ; he  satisfied  himself  that  there  could 
have  been  no  private  resentment  in  his  conduct  to  his  lord- 
ship  when  he  lifted  his  hand  against  him,  because  twenty 
minutes  later  he  discovered  that  there  were  no  grounds  for 
entertaining  it.  This  consideration  sufficed  to  dissipate  the 
first  sense  of  guilt  that  had  stolen  over  him.  Now  he  knelt 
down  in  the  cave,  at  its  entrance,  and  thanked  heaven  that 
no  taint  of  personal  animosity  had  entered  into  his  motives 
and  marred  their  purity.  It  was  true  that  Lord  Lamerton 
had  thrown  Saltren  out  of  employ — he  forgot  that.  It  was 
true  also  that,  as  chairman  of  the  board  of  directors  of  the 
railway,  he  had  sought  to  force  him  to  surrender  his  house 
and  plot  of  land — he  forgot  that.  It  was  true  that  at  the 
time  when  he  confronted  Lord  Lamerton,  he  believed  that 
his  domestic  happiness  had  been  destroyed  by  that  noble' 
man — he  forgot  that  also.  He  concluded  that  he  had  put 
forth  his  hand,  acting  under  a divine  impulse,  and  exe* 


ARM  I NELL.  3 I I 

cuting,  not  personal  vengeance,  but  the  sentence  of 
heaven. 

When  a camel,  heavy  laden,  is  crossing  the  desert,  the 
notion  sometimes  occurs  to  it  that  it  is  over  burdened,  that 
its  back  is  breaking,  and  it  sullenly  lies  down  on  the  sand. 
No  blows  will  stir  it — not  even  fire  applied  to  its  flanks  ; 
but  the  driver  with  much  fuss  goes  to  the  side  of  the  beast, 
and  pretends  to  unburden  it  of — one  straw.  And  that  one 
straw  he  holds  under  the  eye  of  the  camel,  which,  satisfied 
that  it  has  been  sensibly  relieved,  gets  up  and  shambles  on. 
Our  consciences  are  as  easily  satisfied  when  heavy  bur- 
dened as  the  stupid  camel.  One  straw — nay  the  semblance, 
the  shadow  of  a straw — taken  from  them  contents  us  ; we 
rise,  draw  a long  breath,  shake  our  sides,  and  amble  on  our 
way  well  pleased. 

Lord  Lamerton  had  been  doomed  by  heaven  for  his  guilt 
in  the  matter  of  Archelaus  Tubb.  Was  it  not  written  that 
he  who  had  taken  the  life  of  another  should  atone  therefor 
with  his  own  life  ? Who  was  the  cause  of  the  lad’s  death  ? 
Surely  Lord  Lamerton,  who  had  ordered  the  destruction  of 
the  cottage.  If  the  cottage  had  been  left  untouched,  the 
chimney  would  not  have  fallen.  Mr.  Macduff  was  but  the 
agent  acting  under  the  orders  of  his  lordship,  and  the 
deepest  stain  of  blood  rested,  not  on  the  agent,  but  on  his 
instigator  and  employer.  Saltren  had  been  on  the  jury  when 
the  inquest  took  place,  and  he  had  then  seen  clearly  where 
the  fault  lay,  and  who  was  really  guilty  in  the  matter ; but 
others,  with  the  fear  of  man  in  them,  had  not  received  his 
opinion  and  consented  to  it,  and  so  there  had  been  a mis- 
carriage of  justice. 

If  a bell-pull  be  drawn,  it  moves  a crank,  and  the  crank 
tightens  a wire,  and  that  wire  acts  on  a second  lever,  and 
this  second  crank  moves  a spring  and  sets  a bell  tingling. 
The  hand  that  touches  the  bell-rope  is  responsible  for  the 
tingling  of  the  bell,  however  far  removed  from  it.  So  was 


3!2 


ARMINELL. 


Lord  Lamerton  responsible  for  the  death  of  Archelaus, 
though  he  had  not  touched  the  chimney  with  his  own 
hand. 

Saltren  was,  moreover,  deeply  impressed  with  the  reality 
of  his  vision,  which  had  grown  in  his  mind  and  taken 
extraordinary  dimensions,  and  had  assumed  distinct  outline 
as  his  fancy  brooded  over  it.  But  it  did  not  occur  to  his 
mind  that  fancy  had  deceived  him,  for  to  Saltren,  as  to  all 
mystics,  the  internal  imaginings  are  ever  more  real  than 
those  sensible  presentiments  which  pass  before  their  eyes. 

Now  he  knelt  in  the  cave,  relieved  of  all  sense  of  wrong- 
doing, and  thanked  heaven  for  having  called  him  to 
vindicate  its  justice  on  the  man  whom  human  justice  had 
icquitted. 


CHAPTER  XXXIII. 


NOTHING. 

Mr.  James  Welsh  occupied  a small,  respectable  house  in 
a row  in  Shepherd’s  Bush.  The  house  was  very  new  ; the 
smell  of  plaster  clung  about  it.  Before  the  row  were 
young  plane  trees,  surrounded  with  wire-netting  to  pro- 
tect their  tender  bark  from  the  pen-knives  and  pinching 
fingers  of  boys.  Far  in  the  dim  future  was  a prospect  of 
the  road  becoming  an  umbrageous  avenue  ; accordingly, 
with  an  eye  to  the  future,  those  who  had  planned  and 
planted  the  row  entitled  it  The  Avenue. 

Up  this  avenue  of  wretched,  coddled  saplings  walked 
Mr.  Giles  Inglett  Saltren,  in  the  best  of  spirits,  to  visit  his 
uncle,  the  Monday  morning  after  his  arrival  in  town. 

Now  Giles  Inglett  Saltren  was  about  to  begin  his  career 
as  a journalist,  as  a politician,  as  a man  of  letters.  He 
had  broken  away  from  the  position  which  had  degraded 
and  enslaved  him,  which  had  cramped  his  genius,  and  sup- 
pressed his  generous  emotions. 

He  had  not,  indeed,  heard  from  Welsh  since  he  had 
written  to  him,  but  youth  is  sanguine.  He  could  rely  on 
his  uncle  finding  him  work,  and  he  knew  his  own  abilities 
were  of  no  ordinary  quality.  He  had  essayed  his  powers  on 
several  political  questions.  He  had  written  articles  on  the 
Eastern  Embroglio,  the  Madagascar  Policy  of  the  French 
Republic,  Port  Hamilton,  the  dispute  about  the  Fisheries, 


314 


ARM1NELL. 


and  Irish  dissatisfaction.  Very  vigorous  they  were  in  style, 
and  pulverizing  in  argumentative  force. 

He  had  not  sent  them  to  his  uncle,  but  he  brought  them 
with  him  now  in  a hand-bag.  He  came  early  to  ensure 
finding  Mr.  Welsh  at  home  and  to  allow  time  for  read- 
ing his  articles  to  him,  and  discussing  the  terms  on  which 
he  was  to  be  taken  upon  the  staff  of  the  paper  with  which 
his  uncle  was  connected.  He  figured  to  himself  the  ex- 
pression of  the  face  of  Welsh  changing,  as  he  listened  from 
incredulity  to  pleased  surprise  and  rapt  ecstasy,  and  the 
clasp  of  hands  when  the  lecture  was  over,  the  congratulation 
on  success,  and  the  liberal  offer  of  remuneration  that  would 
ensue. 

There  was  one  telling  passage  on  Port  Hamilton  which  to 
Jingles’  mind  was  so  finely  turned,  so  rich  and  mellow  in  its 
eloquence,  that  he  repeated  it  twice  to  himself  as  he  walked 
from  Shepherd’s  Bush  station  to  his  destination. 

“ It  is  really  well  put,”  mused  Jingles  ; “ and  I think  if  it 
comes  under  the  eye  of  the  Ministry,  that  it  must  materially 
affect  their  policy,  and,  perhaps,  decide  the  question  of  the 
retention  or  surrender  of  the  station.  More  wonderful 
things  have  happened  than  that  it  should  lead  to  my  being 
offered  a colonial  appointment.  Not  that  I would  accept  a 
post  which  was  not  influential.  I am  not  going  to  be 
shelved  as  a foreign  consul.  1 intend  to  be  where  I can 
put  my  mark  on  my  times,  and  mould  the  destinies  of  the 
people.  It  would  not  be  surprising  were  the  Conservative 
Government  to  endeavour  to  silence  me  by  the  offer  of  some 
governorship  which  would  take  me  from  home,  and  corner 
me  where  my  influence  would  be  powerless.  But  I intend 
to  keep  my  eyes  open.  I am  not  one  of  the  men  who  sub- 
mit to  suppression.  Ah  ! here  is  Uncle  James’  door.” 

He  opened  the  little  iron  gate.  A servant  was  on  the 
steps,  kneeling  and  scrubbing  the  threshold.  She  had 
managed  to  kneel  on  her  apron,  and  tear  it  out  of  the 


ARMINELL. 


3T5 

gathers.  Her  slippers  exposed  a split  over  the  toe,  showing 
stocking,  and  the  stocking  was  split  over  the  heel,  showing 
skin.  She  put  her  scrubbing-brush  to  her  head  to  smooth 
the  hair  that  had  fallen  forward,  over  the  fringe. 

“ Is  Mr.  Welsh  at  home  ? ” 

“ Yes’ir.  Your  card,  please?  ” 

She  looked  at  her  fingers  ; they  were  wet,  so  she  put  them 
beneath  her  apron,  and  extended  her  hand  thus  covered  to 
receive  the  card,  and  nipped  it  through  the  integument  of 
coarse  linen,  then  turned  and  went  in,  leaving  Saltren  on  the 
doorstep  with  the  bucket.  The  soap  she  had  prudently  re- 
moved within,  lest,  while  she  was  presenting  the  card,  he 
might  make  off  with  the  square.  She  was  up  to  the  dodges 
of  such  chaps.  So,  also,  she  shut  the  door  behind  her,  lest 
he  should  make  off  with  an  overcoat  or  umbrella.  A 
servant  cannot  be  too  careful  in  the  suburbs  of  London. 
Presently  she  returned,  re-opened  the  door,  and  asked 
Saltren  to  kindly  step  into  the  master’s  study. 

Mr.  James  Welsh  was  just  engaged  in  unfolding  his 
morning’s  paper  preparatory  to  reading,  or,  rather,  skimming 
it,  when  Jingles  entered. 

“ Hallo,  young  shaver  ! ” exclaimed  the  uncle,  laying 
aside  the  newspaper  somewhat  reluctantly.  “ This  is  sharp 
work,  dropping  in  on  me  before  I have  had  time  allowed 
me  to  answer  your  letter.  I only  came  home  last  night. 
It  is  like  crossing  the  frontier  simultaneously  with  declara- 
tion of  war.  If  you  had  waited  for  my  answer  you  would 
have  saved  yourself  trouble  and  the  cost  of  your  ticket.” 

“ There  were  reasons  which  made  it  necessary  for  me  to 
leave  at  once.” 

“ My  dear  boy,  reasons  are  like  eggs  in  a recipe  for  a 
pudding.  The  pudding  is  best  with  them  ; but  it  is  good 
without.  You  wanted  to  come,  and  you  enrich  your  com- 
ing with  reasons.  That  is  the  sense  of  it,” 

“ But,  Uncle  James,  I have  long  felt  a decided  vocation 


3t6 


ARMINELI/ 


for  a political  and  literary  life,  and  I have  long  chafed  at  the 
restraints ” 

“Young  shaver,  in  the  ministerial  world — I mean  the 
world  of  ministers  of  religion — there  are  also  calls  ; but, 
curiously  enough,  only  such  are  listened  to  when  the  call  is 
from  a salary  of  fifty  to  a hundred  and  fifty.  I never  yet 
heard  of  a pastor  who  listened  to  a call  to  leave  one  of  a 
hundred  for  one  of  half  that  amount.  But  they  jump  like 
frogs  when  the  call  is  t’other  way.  You  should  have  learned 
wisdom  from  those  apostles  of  light.  You  have,  I fear, 
thrown  up  a lucrative  situation  for  nothing.  Like  the  dog 
in  the  fable,  dropped  the  piece  of  meat  to  bite  at  a shadow.” 
“ I have  no  doubt,”  said  Jingles  gravely,  “ that  at  first  I 
shall  not  earn  much  ; but  I have  some  money  laid  by  which 
will  serve  my  necessities  till  I have  made  myself  a name, 
and  got  an  assured  income.” 

“ Made  yourself  a name  ! That  is  what  no  journalist 
ever  does.  Got  an  assured  income ! That  comes  late. 
You  have  not  been  through  the  mill.” 

“ I have  in  my  bag  some  articles  I have  touched  off, 
leaders  on  important  matters,  of  absorbing  interest  to  the 
Dublic.” 

“ As  what  ? ” 

“ Port  Hamilton.” 

“ The  public  don’t  care  a snap  about  that.” 

“ The  Eastern  Question.” 

“ About  which  you  know  nothing.” 

“ The  Irish  Land  Question.” 

“ On  which  you  are  incompetent  to  form  an  opinion.” 

“ Will  you  look  at  my  articles  ? ” 

“ I can’t  say.  I can  tell  what  they  are  like  without  your 
opening  the  bag.  I know  exactly  the  style  of  these  school- 
boy productions.  If  you  particularly  desire  it,  I will  run 
my  eye  over  them  ; but  I tell  you  beforehand,  they  are 
good  for  nought.  Mind  you,  I don’t  expect  that  a writer 


ARMINELL. 


317 


of  a leader  knows  any  more  of  his  subject  than  do  you;  but 
he  does  know  how  to  affect  a knowledge  he  does  not  pos- 
sess, and  disguise  his  ignorance ; and  he  has  a certain  style 
that  belongs  to  the  business.  It  is  with  journalism  as  with 
acting.  An  amateur  proclaims  himself  in  every  sentence. 
The  ass’s  ears  project  from  under  the  lion’s  skin.  There 
are  little  tricks  of  the  trade,  a margin  for  gag,  that  must  be 
employed  and  utilised,  and  only  a professional  is  at  his 
ease,  and  has  the  familiar  tricks  at  his  disposal,  and  gag  at 
the  end  of  his  tongue.  Can  you  manage  shorthand  ? ” 

“ Shorthand  ! No.” 

“ Pity  that.  I might  have  got  you  some  reporting  jobs.” 
“ But  I do  not  want  reporting  jobs.” 

“ Then  you  will  get  nothing.” 

Jingles  was  rather  offended  than  cast  down. 

“ I see  what  it  is,  Uncle  Welsh,”  he  said  in  a tone  of  irri 
tation,  “ you  journalists  are  a close  corporation,  and  you 
will  not  admit  an  intruder.  You  are  jealous  of  an  invasion 
within  your  circle,  just  as  a parcel  of  commercials  resent 
the  entry  of  any  but  a commissioned  bagman  into  their 
coffee-room.” 

“ Not  a bit ; but  we  do  object  to  a raw  bumpkin  who 
has  not  gone  through  his  apprenticeship  giving  himself  airs, 
and  pretending  an  equality  with  us  who  have  drudged  at 
the  trade  till  we  have  mastered  its  technicalities.” 

“ I presume  that  a good  education  and  brains  qualify  a 
man  to  write.” 

“ Not  necessarily — certainly  not  to  write  leaders.  I dare 
say  we  might  hand  over  to  you  the  reviewing  of  children’s 
books.  That  would  come  within  your  range.” 

“ It  is  an  insult  to  offer  such  a thing.” 

“ Indeed!  You  know  little  of  literature  or  you  would 
not  say  so.  Formerly,  when  education  was  scarce,  there 
were  but  a few  writers,  and  they  were  well  paid.  Now  edu- 
cation is  universal,  and  every  one  who  can  handle  a pen 


ARMINELL. 


318 

thinks  he  can  write,  even  if  he  be  imperfectly  acquainted 
with  spelling.  Education  now  is  as  common,  as  general,  as 
pocket-handkerchiefs.  Both  were  luxuries  fifty  years  ago. 
Literature  is  glutted  with  aspirants  ; brain  is  as  common  as 
aesthetic  colours,  as  embroidered  sunflowers,  and  Japanese 
lacquer.  What  is  rare  is  muscle.  Learn  some  mechanical 
art,  and  you  will  find  biceps  pay  better  than  brain.” 

“ You  know  very  well  I have  not  the  health  to  adopt  the 
trade  of  an  artisan.” 

“ Then  become  a preacher ; and  here  let  me  give  you 
advice.  If  you  want  to  become  a popular  preacher,  and  a 
power  in  the  pulpit  or  on  the  platform,  tear  down.  It  is 
thankless  work  to  build  up ; that  takes  time,  demands 
patience,  and  does  not  command  immediate  popularity  and 
ready  applause.  You  appeal  to  no  passion  when  construc- 
tive. Passion  is  your  assistant  in  destruction.  Every  man 
has  so  much  of  the  savage  in  him  that  he  likes  the  war-path 
and  the  taste  of  blood.  You  appeal  to  what  you  know  is 
in  all,  when  you  give  a war-whoop,  and  brandish  a toma- 
hawk. There  is  some  picturesqueness  and  a sense  of 
power,  in  whooping  and  whirling  the  axe;  there  is  only 
prose  in  smoking  calumets  of  peace.” 

“ I have  no  fancy  for  the  pulpit ; but  I should  like  to 
become  a political  speaker.” 

“ We  can  try  you  at  some  village  meeting ; but  the  pay 
is  not  much.  Take  my  advice  and  return  to  Orleigh.” 

“ That  is  impossible.  I have  burnt  my  ships.  I can 
never  recross  the  threshold  of  the  house  till  I am  recog- 
nised.” 

“ What — as  a literary  lion  ? As  a stump  orator  ? ” 

“No,  uncle,  as  Lord  Lamerton’s  son.” 

“ As — as  his — what  ? ” 

Mr.  James  Welsh  burst  into  a fit  of  laughter,  and  when 
he  was  exhausted,  exploded,  in  spite  of  exhaustion,  into  a 
second  peal 


ARMINELL. 


319 


Jingles  maintained  his  gravity.  His  brow  contracted. 
He  folded  his  arms  across  his  breast,  and  stood  sternly 
waiting  till  this  unseemly  ebullition  of  merriment  had  sub- 
sided, in  the  attitude  in  which  Napoleon  appears  in  Horace 
Vernet’s  celebrated  picture,  on  Saint  Helena,  looking  at  the 
setting  sun. 

“You  must  excuse  me,”  said  he  at  last,  “if  I say  that 
this  is  not  the  way  in  which  I expected  to  be  received. 
First  you  scoff  at  my  honourable  ambition  to  be  a man  of 
letters,  and  then  you  explode  into  indecent  laughter  when  I 
mention  the  fact  of  my  parentage  with  which  you  are  per- 
fectly familiar,  though  it  is  not  known  to  the  world  at  large. ” 
“ By  Jove,  Giles,  I did  not  suppose  you  were  such  a 
fool" 

“ I do  not  understand  you.” 

“I  may  say,  Giles,  that  I do  not  understand Do 
you  mean  seriously  to  assure  me  that  you  give  credence  to 
that  cock-and-bull  tale?” 

“Uncle  Welsh,  I believe  my  mother’s  word.” 

“ Far  be  it  from  me  to  say  anything  to  a son  disrespectful 
of  his  mother ; and  in  this  case  I merely  point  out  to  you 
the  richness  and  exuberance  of  your  mother’s  fancy.  Pene- 
lope embroidered  by  day,  and  by  night  unpicked  her  day- 
work. My  dear  boy,  it  is,  perhaps,  a matter  of  regret  that 
my  sister  contents  herself  with  embroidery,  and  does  not 
complement  her  work  by  unpicking  the  fantastic  and  highly- 
coloured  figures  that  needle,  her  tongue,  has  elaborated. 
She  is  like  a magic-lantern  projecting  pictures  upon  smoke, 
sheets,  or  blank  walls,  making  those  surfaces  alive  with 
forms  and  faces.  You  really  would  suppose  that  the  man 
in  bed  was  actually  swallowing  the  rats  that  ran  into  his 
mouth,  and  that  Blue  Beard  in  very  truth  rolled  his  eyes 
and  cut  off  his  wife’s  head,  and  that  the  cabbage  was  con- 
verted into  Snip  the  Tailor.  But,  my  dear  nephew,  they 
are  phantasms.  Go  up  to  them,  touch,  observe,  there  is 


320 


ARMINELL. 


only  smoke  or  whited  wall.  I have  the  highest  respect  for 
my  sister’s  genius.  I bow  before  her  imagination,  and 
adore  it ; but  remember  what  Paley  said  of  the  imagination 
— that  it  is  the  fertile  mother  of  error.  My  good  sister’s 
delusive  faculty  seems  to  have  become  mamma  to  an  ex- 
travagant blunder,  which  you  are  lovingly  nursing.” 

“Then  you  place  no  reliance  on  my  mother’s  account?  ” 
“ Wait  a moment.”  Mr.  Welsh  went  to  the  bookcase. 
“ Here  is  a peerage.  Turn  up  4 Lamerton,  Baron,’  and  see 
where  his  lordship  was  at  that  time  that  you  were  begun 
to  be  thought  about.  He  was  not  in  England — had  not 
been  there  for  two  or  three  years.  I knew  that  as  well  as 
the  author  of  the  peerage,  perhaps  better ; for  I was  at 
Orleigh  at  that  time,  a fact  my  sister  Marianne  forgot  when 
she  exhibited  to  me  her  magic-lantern  slides.  I was  not 
then  what  I am  now.  I was  then  thankful  for  a bit  of 
literary  work,  and  did  not  turn  up  my  nose  at  reviewing 
children’s  books.  I was  as  glad  then  to  get  a chance  of 
putting  pen  to  paper  as  I now  am  of  getting  a holiday  from 
pen  and  paper.” 

“And,”  said  Jingles,  somewhat  staggered  by  the  evidence 
of  the  peerage,  “ you  mean  to  tell  me  that  my  mother  said 
— what — what — what  was  false  ? ” 

“Young  shaver,”  said  Mr.  Welsh,  “I  read  ‘Herodotus’ 
in  Bohn’s  translation.  I don’t  even  know  the  letters  of  the 
Greek  alphabet.  I read  for  professional  purposes.  I ob- 
serve that  when  the  father  of  history  comes  to  a delicate 
and  disputed  question,  he  passes  it  over  with  the  remark  ‘I 
prefer  not  to  express  my  own  opinion  thereon.’  When  you 
ask  me  whether  what  your  mother  said  was  true  or  a lie,  I 
answer  with  Herodotus,  4 1 prefer  not  to  express  my  own 
opinion  thereon.’  ” 

Giles  Inglett  looked  down  on  the  carpet.  His  lips 
quivered. 

“ Young  shaver,”  pursued  Mr.  Welsh,  cheerily,  rubbing 


ARMINELL. 


321 


his  hands  together,  and  taking  up  his  newspaper,  as  a hint 
to  his  nephew  to  be  gone,  “ you  had  best  return  to  your  inn, 
and  begin  to  pull  out  the  threads  of  that  elaborate  and 
gorgeous  piece  of  Gobelin  your  mother  has  furnished  you 
with.  Believe  me,  under  the  coloured  worsted  and  floss 
silk,  you  will  come  on  very  vulgar  canvas.  It  is  a sad  pity 
that  you  should  have  learned  that  you  are  not  the  son  of 
Stephen  Saltren.  You  might  well  have  been  left  to  share 
the  common  belief.  Perhaps  it  was  inevitable  that  you 
should  discover  the  flaw  in  your  nativity.  Some  women 
cannot  hold  their  tongues.  I am  not  sure  that  the  Babylon- 
ians acted  unwisely  when  on  the  occasion  of  their  revolt 
against  Darius,  they  strangled  every  woman  in  the  city  ex- 
cept their  cooks,  for,  they  argued,  men  can  get  along  with- 
out the  sex  in  every  other  capacity.” 

The  young  man  was  profoundly  disturbed.  He  looked 
up,  and  said  in  a voice  that  expressed  his  emotion — 

“ Uncle,  do  not  jest  with  me  in  this  matter.  To  me  it  is 
one  of  deadly  earnest.  I entreat  you  speak  the  truth,  for — - 
good  heavens  ! If  I am  not  what  I supposed  myself  to  be, 
I have  made  a terrible  mistake.” 

“ You  are  no  more  a son  of  Lord  Lamerton  than  I am. 
Marianne — I mean  your  mother — thinks  I am  ignorant  of 
the  real  facts,  but  I never  was,  though  I said  nothing  at  the 
time  or  after.” 

“ Then  you  know  who  my  father  was.” 

“ Yes,  I do — but  I am  not  disposed  to  tell  you.” 

“ I insist  on  knowing.” 

“ You  ought  never  to  have  been  told  that  you  were  not 
what  you  and  the  world  supposed.  Now  don’t  attempt  to 
lift  the  embroidered  veil  your  good  mother  has  over  the 
mystery.  The  veil  is  handsomer  than  what  it  conceals.” 

“ But — I have  acted  on  the  supposition  that  I was  the  son 
of  Lord  Lamerton.” 

“ I know  you  have,  and  more  fool  you.  You  have  left 


322 


ARMINELL. 


your  situation  as  tutor  in  his  house  and  a respectable  in- 
come.” 

“ I have  done  more.  I have  persuaded  Miss  Inglett  to 
run  away  with  me.” 

“ You  have — what  ? ” 

Mr.  Welsh  dropped  his  hands  and  the  paper ; he  stood 
for  a moment  in  blank  amazement.  Then  the  blood  rushed 
into  his  brow,  and  his  hands  clenched. 

“You  have — you  dare  not  repeat  those  words.” 

“ It  is  true*  I supposed  she  was  my  sister.” 

“ You  dirty  little  blackguard  ! ” cried  Welsh,  losing  all 
control  over  himself  and  his  tongue  ; he  sprang  towards  his 
nephew,  brandishing  the  newspaper.  “ I will  horsewhip  you 
with  the  only  weapon  I have,  the  Daily  News ! You  cox- 
comb ! You  infamous  snob  ! I’m  ashamed  to  acknowledge 
you  as  my  sister’s  child.” 

“ I know  that  I have  made  a terrible  mistake.” 

“ Mistake  is  not  the  word  for  it.  .A  more  detestable,  out- 
rageous, caddish  act,  I could  not  conceive.  Good  gracious  ! 
I would  like  to  kick  you  round  my  table,  kick  you  down  the 
hall,  kick  you  out  at  my  door,  down  the  steps,  send  you  fly- 
ing along  the  avenue  from  tree  to  tree,  and  a kick  at  each. 
Do  you  not  see,  you  scoundrel,  what  you  have  done  ? — cast 
an  indelible  slur  upon  the  girl’s  character.  Mistake — mis- 
take, indeed  ! Of  all  snobbery  ! Mistake  ! Get  out  of  my 
house  this  instant.  You  pollute  the  atmosphere,  you.  You 
a son  of  my  lord  ! You,  who  have  not  a drop  of  honourable 
blood  in  your  veins,  not  a spark  of  proper  feeling  in  your 
heart,  not  the  smallest  grain  of  gentlemanly,  let  alone  noble 
sentiment  in  your  whole  nature — you  contemptible  bastard 
of  Sam  Ceely.” 


CHAPTER  XXXIV. 


LESS  THAN  NOBODY. 

Giles  Inglett  Saltren  was  so  completely  thrown  off  his 
balance  by  Welsh’s  repudiations  of  the  story  of  his  parent- 
age, that  he  did  not  resent,  he  hardly  heard  the  burst  of  in- 
dignation that  escaped  his  uncle  ; or,  if  he  heard  it,  his 
mind  was  too  preoccupied  to  follow  his  words,  and  measure 
their  force,  and  take  umbrage  at  their  grossness.  He  was 
overpowered  with  dismay.  What  had  he  done  ? fie  could 
not  even  realise  the  extent  of  the  evil  he  had  wrought,  nor 
measure  the  depth  of  his  own  baseness. 

But  Mr.  Welsh  was  not  a man  to  leave  him  without  hav- 
ing spread  out  the  mass  of  his  misdeeds  before  him,  and 
held  his  head  down  over  it  '’nd  indicated  its  most  salient 
features. 

“ You  abominable  little  snob  ! ” he  exclaimed.  “ Have 
you  forgotten  what  has  been  done  for  you  ? If  his  lordship 
had  not  taken  you  from  the  hard  form  on  which  you 
polished  the  seat  of  your  corduroys,  and  set  you  in  an  easy 
chair,  you’d  have  nice  callosities  now.  Probably  you  would 
not  have  been  alive  at  all  had  he  not  sent  you  to  the  South 
of  France.”  Mr.  Welsh  became  sarcastic.  “ No  doubt  you 
owe  his  lordship  a grudge  because  he  didn’t  let  you  go  at 
once  to  kingdom  come  instead  of  detaining  you  here  in  this 
Vale  of  Tears.  Mind  you,  Giles — there  is  no  escape  from 
this  fact,  that  you  owe  your  life  to  him.  To  him  also  you 


324 


ARMINELL. 


owe  your  education.  To  him  you  owe  it  that,  supposing 
you  had  lived,  your  are  not  now  a horny-handed  ploughboy, 
that  you  know  how  to  use  a pocket-handkerchief,  and  don’t 
put  your  knife  in  your  mouth. ” 

Mr.  Welsh  thrust  his  hands  into  his  pockets,  and  stood 
with  legs  apart  looking  scornfully  at  his  nephew. 

“ Pray,  Mr.  Giles  Inglett,  how  would  you  like  to  go  back 
to  potato  pasty  and  cold  boiled  junk  of  bacon?  To  an 
early  dinner,  and  swipes  instead  of  claret  ? To  getting  your 
clothes  at  a slop-shop,  instead  of  being  fitted  by  a tailor  ? 
To  being  without  books  and  magazines  and  reviews?  Are 
you  aware  that  you  have  earned  not  one  of  the  luxuries  or 
even  comforts  of  civilized  life?  That  they  have  come  to 
you  undeserved  as  does  free  Grace?  Upon  my  word,  you 
make  my  blood  splutter ! Shall  I tell  you  what  would  have 
been  the  end  of  you  had  not  Lord  Lamerton  come  to  the 
rescue  ? After  you  were  ill  you  would  have  been  cared  for, 
or  not  cared  for,  after  the  fashion  of  common  folk’s  children, 
and  your  mother’s  haphazard  way  of  doing  everything* 
allowed  to  get  your  feet  wet,  and  stand  in  draughts,  neglected 
one  day,  coddled  the  next,  till  your  weak  lungs  gave  way,  and 
rapid  consumption  set  in.  Shall  I tell  you  what  would  have 
been  the  course  of  Act  II?  Then  you  would  have  been 
mewed  up  in  that  dismal  back  bedroom  at  Chillacot,  with 
the  ultramarine  wash  on  the  walls,  and  the  snipped,  emerald- 
green,  silver-paper  fly  trap  suspended  in  the  middle  of  the 
room,  and  the  blistered  mirror  and  the  window  looking  out 
at  a dripping  rock,  ugh  ! There  you  would  have  lain  and 
coughed ; and  when  an  attempt  was  made  to  light  the  fire, 
the  smoke  would  have  refused  to  try  the  road  up  the  chim- 
ney, and  preferred  that  to  your  lungs;  and  when  the  window 
was  opened  to  let  the  smoke  out  it  would  have  let  in  the 
smell  of  the  pigstye.  When  you  wanted  a book  to  enliven 
you,  you  would  have  been  given  Baxter’s  ‘ Saints’  Rest  ’ or 
a Methodist  Missionary  Magazine,  and  death  itself  would 


ARMINELL. 


325 


have  been  welcome  as  an  escape  from  such  literature.  You 
would  have  needed  wine,  and  not  had  it ; cod-liver  oil,  and 
not  had  it ; grapes,  and  not  had  them ; calves’  foot  jelly, 
and  had  to  do  without.  You  would  have  been  given  thin 
gruel,  and  fried  india-rubber,  that  playfully  considered  itself 
rump  steak,  much  as  you  consider  yourself  a nobleman,  and 
leaden  dough,  greasy  bacon,  and  lukewarm  bad  tea.  Your 
bed  would  have  been  lumpy  and  made  occasionally,  and 
your  sheets  changed  now  and  then,  and  your  pillow-case 
assuming  the  adhesiveness  to  your  cheek  of  postage  stamps  ; 
and  there  would  have  been  a draught  like  a mill-race  pouring 
in  through  that  gap — I know  it — under  the  door.  When 
you  wanted  to 'sleep  by  day,  your  mother  would  be  scouring 
pans  in  the  back  kitchen  underneath,  and  when  so  inclined 
at  night,  your  father,  on  the  other  side  of  the  partition, 
would  be  snoring  like  John  Willett.  As  you  grew  weaker, 
and  more  unable  to  endure  worry,  in  would  have  come  the 
captain,  to  exhort  and  expound,  and  stir  and  whip  up  your 
weary  soul  into  a caper  of  screaming  terror.  You  would 
have  longed  for  death  as  an  escape  from  the  smells  and  the 
smoke,  and  the  crude  blue,  and  the  draught,  and  the  knots 
in  your  mattress,  and  the  Missionary  Magazines,  and  the 
pigs  in  the  yard,  and  the  benzoline  lamp.” 

Mr.  Welsh  stooped  and  picked  up  his  newspaper,  which 
lay  crumpled  on  the  floor.  He  smoothed  it,  and  folded  it 
on  the  table.  Then  he  looked  hard  at  his  nephew.  Giles 
remained  motionless,  with  eyes  on  the  carpet;  his  brow 
was  troubled  and  his  lips  trembling.  He  was  very  pale. 

“That  is  how  you  would  have  ended  as  a boy  of 
seventeen,”  pursued  Mr.  Welsh,  remorselessly,  mercilessly. 
“Your  life  you  owe  to  Lord  Lamerton,  your  mind  has  been 
expanded  and  enriched  by  him.  Had  he  not  sent  you  to 
college  what  would  have  been  the  range  of  your  ideas? 
What  would  you  have  known  of  Shakespeare,  Thackeray 
Pope,  Goethe,  and  Dante?  What  appreciation  of  art? 


326 


ARMINELL. 


You  would  have  been  as  incapable  of  judging  between  a 
good  painting  and  a daub,  of  discriminating  between  Tann- 
haiiser  and  Sankey  and  Moody,  as  any  chawbacon.  What 
I have  learned,  I have  learned  with  labour,  I had  no  masters, 
no  hand  to  help  me  over  the  stile.  I wish  I had  had  your 
advantages,  but  no  Lord  Lamerton  took  me  up.  I had  not 
that  luck.  I have  had  to  fight  my  own  way.  I daresay  you 
think  it  inconsistent  in  me  to  take  the  part  of  his  lordship 
against  my  own  nephew,  but  that  is  because  your  conscience 
is  disordered.  I fight  him  tooth  and  nail,  because  he  is  an 
aristocrat  and  I a democrat.  It  is  my  business  to  attack 
the  Tories  and  the  landed  interest  and  the  House  of  Lords. 
I am  a politician,  and  in  politics  all  is  fair ; but  we  are  now 
in  another  region  altogether,  in  that  of  common  honesty, 
and  domestic  relations ; I look  on  my  lord,  not  as  a noble- 
man, but  as  a father,  and  a kind-hearted  man  who  has  done 
much  for  you ; and  I am  able  to  take  the  gauge  of  your 
conduct  accordingly.  You  have  behaved  infamously  towards 
your  benefactor,  you  have  hurt  him  where  he  is  most 
sensitive — hitting,  you  contemptible  little  coward,  below 
the  belt.  You  have  stained  the  pure  name  of  his  only 
daughter,  tarnished  the  honour  of  an  irreproachable  house. 
Who  will  believe  that  the  girl  ran  away  with  you,  because 
she  supposed  that  you  were  her  brother?  Everyone  knows 
that  you  are  nothing  of  the  kind.  Should  it  leak,  out  that 
you  are  not  Captain  Saltren’s  son,  how  will  it  mend  matters 
if  it  be  shown  that  you  are  the  bastard  brat  of  old  blear- 
eyed,  one-handed,  limping  Samuel  Ceely?” 

Giles  winced,  he  raised  both  his  hands,  half  beseechingly, 
half  as  if  to  protect  himself  from  the  words  which  struck 
him  as  blows.  It  was  a convulsive,  not  a purposed  move- 
ment. Also  he  looked  up  for  a moment,  and  attempted  to 
speak,  but  said  nothing,  the  words  died  away  in  his  throat. 
Then  his  head  fell  again. 

“ You  say  you  have  saved  some  money,”  Welsh  went 


aRMINELL. 


327 


on;  “whose  money?  That  which  Lord  Lamerton  gave 
you.  How  many  hundreds  of  pounds  do  you  suppose 
you  have  cost  him  ? In  sending  you  to  Bordighera,  in 
doctors’  bills,  in  school  and  college  accounts  ? You 
swaggered  at  Oxford  as  a gentleman,  and  Lord  Lamerton 
paid  for  it.  He  furnished  your  rooms  in  college,  paid  your 
battels.  You  invited  your  friends  to  breakfasts  and  wines, 
and  he  paid  for  them.  Who  but  he  put  the  clothes  on 
your  back,  hung  the  pictures  on  your  walls,  fitted  neat 
boots  on  your  feet,  and  supplied  you  with  that  silk  pocket- 
handkerchief  you  are  now  using  to  wipe  the  shame  drops  off 
your  brow  with  ? And — in  return  for  all  this,  you  stab  him 
to  the  heart  and  blast  the  fair  name  of  his  child  ! Good 
heavens ! I feel  as  uncomfortable  in  your  presence  as 
would  Mr.  Gladstone  in  a lodge  of  Primrose  Dames  on  St. 
Benjamin’s  day.  But  there  ! — enough  about  your  despic- 
able self.  It  is  high  time  something  were  done  about  Miss 
Inglett.  I’ll  go  with  you.  What  a nuisance  it  is  that 
Tryphoena  is  just  now  without  a cook.  I’ll  bring  the 
girl  here,  nevertheless,  if  she  has  nowhere  else  to  go  to ; or 
I will  run  down  with  her  myself  to  Orleigh,  or  I’ll  take  her 
to  any  relation  she  may  have  in  town.  You  come  with  me, 
you  mean  little  cad,  as  far  as  your  inn,  or  lodgings,  or  where 
the  deuce  you  are,  and  leave  me  there.  Don’t  show  your 
pasty  face  again.  We  have  seen  already  too  much  of 
you.” 

He  rang  the  bell,  and  the  maid-of-all-work  appeared. 

“ Susan,  turn,  or  take  off  your  apron,  and  run  and  fetch 
me  a hansom.” 

“ Please,  sir,  an’  if  I don’t  come  on  an  ’ansom  ? ” 

“ Then  a cab.  Come,  sharp  ! ” 

He  said  no  more.  He  was  agitated,  because  very  angry. 
He  went  out  for  his  hat  and  gloves,  and  an  umbrella, 
opened  the  latter,  and  refolded  it ; then  he  discovered  that 
he  was  in  a shabby  morning  coat,  so  he  changed  it  upstairs, 


328  ARMINELL, 

and  put  on  his  boots  in  the  hall,  and  then  returned  for  his 
newspaper. 

By  this  time  Susan  had  arrived,  seated  in  a four-wheeler. 
She  had  not  encountered  a hansom. 

“ Go  on,”  said  Welsh  to  his  nephew,  “ I’ll  follow.”  He 
took  his  newspaper  from  the  table,  and  brought  it  with  him 
to  the  cab. 

The  direction  was  given  to  the  driver,  and  the  vehicle 
started.  Welsh  would  not  speak  another  word  to  Giles. 
He  threw  himself  back  with  a grunt  in  the  cab,  and  began 
to  read  his  paper. 

Jingles  looked  dreamily  forth  from  the  window  on  his 
side.  The  cab  was  being  driven  along  Gold  Hawk  Road  ; 
there  was  not  much  traffic  in  it  that  morning ; a coal-cart,  a 
Shepherd’s  Bush  omnibus  were  passed.  The  cabman  drew 
up,  and  swore  at  an  old  lady  who  in  crossing  the  road  had 
dropped  a parcel  of  tracts,  which  scattered  in  all  directions, 
and  who  returned  almost  under  the  feet  of  the  horse  to  re- 
cover some  of  the  papers.  Mr.  James  Welsh  uttered  an 
exclamation.  Saltren  did  not  notice  it,  he  was  in  a stunned 
condition  unable  to  take  observation  of  anything,  unable  to 
do  more  than  reiterate  in  his  mind,  “ I have  made  a mis- 
take— a fatal  mistake  ! ” He  was  unable  even  to  consider 
in  what  way  it  could  be  rectified,  if  capable  of  rectification. 
He  was  not  in  a condition  to  weigh  his  uncle’s  proposals 
what  to  do  with  Arminell.  He  did  not  even  feel  his  uncle’s 
rude  remarks,  they  passed  over  him  without  producing  an 
impression,  so  deadened  were  his  faculties  by  the  consterna- 
tion in  which  he  was.  His  brain  was  like  a sewing-machine 
in  full  operation,  with  a needle  in  it,  stab — stab — stabbing, 
and  always  carrying  the  same  thread,  “ I’ve  made  a mistake 
— a fatal  mistake  ! ” and  making  therewith  a lock  stitch  in- 
capable of  unravelment,  that  went  round  and  round  both 
heart  and  brain,  and  bound  them  together. 

“ Good  God  ! ” exclaimed  Welsh,  and  let  drop  his  papei 


ARMINELL. 


329 


on  his  lap.  Then  he  turned,  “ Giles  ! ” he  shouted  in  his 
nephew’s  ear.  “ Confound  the  fellow,  are  you  asleep  ? I 
did  think  I had  heard  the  worst,  but  there  is  worse  behind  S 
Lord — this  is  awful  ! Giles— you  fool — look  at  the  paper.” 
The  young  man  took  the  sheet  mechanically.  The  fly 
jolted,  and  he  could  not  read.  He  laid  the  paper  down. 
“ My  eyes  are  dazzled,”  he  said,  “ I cannot  make  out  the 
print.  Besides,  I am  indifferent  to  news.” 

“ You  must  not  be  indifferent.  The  news  concerns  you 
particularly.” 

“ I don’t  care  about  politics,”  said  Giles  irritably,  “ I am 
worried,  crushed.  1 have  made  a mistake — an  awful,  a 
fatal  mistake.” 

“ This  is  not  about  politics  at  all,”  shouted  his  uncle. 
“ Lord  ! how  shall  1 break  the  tidings  to  Miss  Inglett  ? I 
wish  I had  brought  my  wife.  Women  do  these  things 
better  than  men.  But,  as  we  have  no  cook,  Tryphoena  is 
engaged  this  morning  in  the  kitchen,  up  to  her  ears,  above 
her  ears,  judging  from  the  condition  of  the  top  of  her  head, 
in  work — I must  do  it.  I hope  that  Miss  Inglett  has  not 
seen  a newspaper  this  morning.” 

“Well — then — what  is  it?”  asked  young  Saltren  im- 
patiently. 

“What  is  it?  Just  this,”  answered  Welsh  grimly  and 
with  vehemence,  “ Lord  Lamerton  is  dead.” 

“ Dead  1 ” Giles  Saltren  was  frozen  with  horror. 

“Yes — dead.  Found  dead  near  Chillacot,  fallen  down 

the  cliff  whilst  on  his  way  to  see  your  father.  Of  course 
there  are  suspicions  of  foul  play.  Nothing  as  yet  certain.” 

“ Found  dead  ! ” The  young  man  gasped  for  breath. 
The  muscles  of  his  chest  contracted  and  a pain  as  though  a 
bayonet  had  stabbed  him  shot  through  his  heart.  He  was 
suffocating,  he  gasped  for  breath.  The  windows  of  the  cab 
began  to  spin  round  him,  the  back  of  the  cab  with  the 
cushions  swung  round  to  the  front,  and  the  front  lights 


33© 


ARMINELL. 


went  behind,  and  the  side  windows  rose  and  hung  over  his 
head,  then  revolved  and  were  beneath  his  feet.  Mr.  Welsh/ 
let  down  the  glass  near  the  young  man,  as  he  saw  the  con- 
dition into  which  he  was  falling,  and  that  he  was  incapable 
of  doing  this  for  himself. 

“ Yes,”  said  his  uncle,  “ dead — that  is  what  has  come  on 
us  now,  and  there  is  mischief  behind.  That  mad,  fanatical 
fool,  the  captain — I should  not  wonder  if  he  were  involved 
in  it,  with  his  visions,  and  trumpets,  and  vials,  and  book  of 
the  Gilded  Clique,  He  ought  to  have  been  locked  up  long 
ago.  He  took  everything  in  solemn  earnest ; he  believed 
in  Marianne’s  rhodomontade ; he  stvallowed  her  lies  whole. 
As  far  as  I can  guess  this  is  what  happened.  Lord  Lamer- 
ton  discovered  that  Miss  Iriglett  was  gone,  gone  with  you, 
and  without  a word  to  any  one  went  to  Chillacot  over  the 
down  to  make  enquiries  of  the  captain  about  the  fugitives. 
How  he  came  to  fall  over  the  cliff  on  his  way,  God  knows ! 
But  of  this  I am  very  certain,  that  it  was  you,  Giles,  who 
sent  him  on  the  road  that  led  to  death.  He  would  not 
have  gone  to  Chillacot  had  he  not  had  need  to  go  there  to 
enquire  after  you.  So  now,  Giles,  what  do  you  think  of 
yourself — eh  ? ” 

Young  Saltren  covered  his  face  with  his  hands,  and  sank 
fainting  into  the  bottom  of  the  cab. 


CHAPTER  XXXV. 


ANOTHER  BREAK-DOWN. 

Arminell  bad  awoke  to  the  fact  that  she  had  made  a mistake 
before  that  conviction  had  been  brought  home  to  the  mind 
of  Jingles ; but  she  entertained  not  the  shadow  of  a sus- 
picion how  radical  that  mistake  was. 

She  became  conscious  that  she  had  put  herself  in  a false 
position  almost  as  soon  as  she  had  taken  the  false  step. 
At  the  first  large  station  the  guard  had  been  obtrusively 
obliging,  and  a little  familiar.  He  had  allowed  her  to  see 
that  he  regarded  her  and  Giles  as  a young  couple  starting 
on  their  honeymoon  tour ; that  he  took  a friendly  interest  in 
them,  and  he  assured  them  he  would  allow  no  one  to  invade 
their  compartment.  He  looked  in  on  them  half-way,  to 
• know  how  they  were  getting  on  ; whether  she  would  desire 
refreshments  to  be  brought  her  to  the  carriage;  whether 
she  would  like  to  have  the  blinds  drawn  down. 

Arrived  in  town,  they  went  to  a quiet  private  hotel  in 
Bloomsbury,  mostly  frequented  by  literary  persons  consult- 
ing the  library  of  the  British  Museum.  Jingles  had  not 
been  there  before.  He  knew  of  the  hotel  only  by  repute. 

The  landlady,  an  eminently  respectable  person,  hesitated 
at  first  about  receiving  the  young  people.  She  did  not 
understand  the  relation  in  which  they  stood  to  each  other, 
and  she  looked  inquisitively  at  Arminell’s  left  hand.  There 
was  not  a trace  of  family  likeness  that  she  could  discover 
in  their  faces,  when  young  Saltren  explained  that  they  were 


33  2 


ARMINELL. 


brother  and  sister.  A further  explanation  was  necessary 
when  he  gave  his  name  as  Saltren,  and  hers  as  Inglett. 
Then  he  regretted  that  he  had  not  gone  to  a large  hotel, 
where  no  questions  would  have  been  asked.  He  had 
considered  his  pocket,  and  Arminell’s  wishes.  He  could 
not  afford  a heavy  expense,  and  she  shrank  from  publicity. 

Next  morning  Armineli  woke  with  a sense  of  depression 
she  could  not  shake  off.  As  she  dressed,  the  tears  of 
mortification  rose  into  her  eyes.  She  was  vexed  with 
herself,  and  vexed  with  Jingles.  She  knew  that  what  she 
had  done  must  wound  her  father,  and  compromise  herself, 
at  all  events,  for  a while.  She  had  taken  the  step  in  a fit 
of  pique  at  her  father’s  desire  to  get  rid  of  her,  and  of 
romantic  enthusiasm,  to  force  him  to  acknowledge  Jingles. 
She  had  felt  convinced  that  in  no  other  way  could  he  be 
induced  to  do  this.  She  entertained  no  particular  admira- 
tion for  young  Saltren,  no  great  affection  for  him,  only  a 
girlish  eagerness  to  see  a misunderstood  and  ill-used  man 
put  in  his  proper  place  and  acknowledged  by  the  world. 
When  she  met  Jingles  at  breakfast  in  the  coffee-room,  there 
was  mutual  restraint  between  them  of  which  both  were 
conscious ; and  in  Arminell’s  heart  a little  welling  up  of 
wrath  against  him.  She  knew  that  the  feeling  was  ungener- 
ous. He  was  less  to  blame  than  herself — that  is,  she  had 
proposed  the  elopement  ; but  then  he  was  older  than 
herself,  and  as  a man  ought  to  have  pointed  out  the  impro- 
priety of  the  proposal.  Now  it  was  too  late.  The  die  was 
cast  which  must  mould  the  rest  of  her  life,  and  of  what 
nature  that  die  was  she  could  not  yet  tell. 

Sunday  passed  quietly.  Armineli  remained  for  the  most 
part  in  her  own  room,  and  young  Saltren  also  kept  secluded, 
going  through,  recopying,  and  improving  his  article  on  Port 
Hamilton,  which  he  regarded  as  his  masterpiece. 

On  Monday,  at  breakfast,  Saltren  told  her  that  he  would 
go  at  once,  early  in  the  day,  to  consult  his  uncle,  and  that 


ARMINELL. 


333 


then  they  would  go  together  in  search  of  suitable  lodgings. 
The  looking  out  for  lodgings  could  be  done  in  the  after 
noon,  as  their  nature  would  be  determined  by  the  amount 
of  income  on  which  Saltren  could  reckon. 

“I  suppose/’  he  said,  “that  my  uncle  can  help  me  into 
getting  the  composition  of  a leader  every  alternate  day  as  a 
beginning,  and  if  I get  five  guineas  for  a leader,  that  will 
make  fifteen  in  the  week.  Then,  I suppose,  I can  do  re- 
viewing, and  write  for  magazines,  and  make  about  thirty 
pounds  a week,  that  will  be,  say  fifteen  hundred  a year,  as  a 
beginning.  I have  reckoned  the  year  as  orie  of  fifty  instead 
of  fifty-two  weeks,  because  I shall  have  to  allow  myself  a 
short  holiday.  On  fifteen  hundred  a year  we  ought  to  have 
a nice  villa  residence,  with  garden  and  conservatories. 
What  do  you  say  to  a Queen  Anne  house  at  Turnham 
Green?  I,  myself,  rather  incline  to  Chislehurst.” 

When  he  was  gone,  Arminell,  left  to  herself,  had  returned 
to  her  bedroom,  to  find  it  not  ready  for  her.  So  she  went 
downstairs  again,  and  sat  by  the  window  in  the  coffee-room, 
looking  into  the  street  through  the  wire-gauze  blind,  not 
thinking  of  and  interested  in  what  passed  in  the  street,  but 
turning  in  mind  to  Orleigh,  to  her  pretty  chamber  there ; to 
the  breakfast  room,  with  the  windows  to  the  east,  and  the 
sun  flooding  it ; to  the  table  with  its  silver,  and  flowers,  and 
porcelain.  How  small  everything  in  this  inn  was,  and  how 
lacking  in  freshness  and  grace  ! 

Her  father’s  cheery  face  had  been  a feature  at  the  meal, 
as  was  also  her  step-mother,  fresh,  gentle,  pale,  and  dove- 
like  in  movement  and  tone.  She  remembered  these  things 
now  that  she  had  cast  them  from  her,  and  found  that  they 
had  been  pleasant,  and  were  not  to  be  recalled  without  a 
beating  of  the  pulse,  and  a rising  in  the  throat. 

Two  gentlemen  were  at  breakfast  at  a table  near  her, 
and  were  eating  eggs — -London  eggs — and  the  savour  of 
eggs,  especially  London  eggs,  in  a low  room  is  not  agreeable. 


334 


ARMINELL. 


They  were  talking  about  the  tribes  of  Northern  Asia, 
Samojeds,  Ostiacks,  Tungus,  Vogulese,  about  bvachyce- 
phalic  and  dolichocephalic  heads,  and  agglutinative  tongues, 
and  linguistic  roots  ; and  then  one  of  the  gentlemen  dropped 
some  of  his  egg  on  his  beard,  and  continued  to  eat  and  talk 
of  agglutinative  tongues,  and  ethnological  peculiarities,  and 
Turanian  characteristics,  without  observing  it ; and  the  drop 
of  yolk  coagulated  on  his  beard,  and  moved  \^ith  his  jaw, 
and  became  agitated  and  excited  over  the  linguistic  affinities 
of  the  Tchuchtchees  with  the  Koriacks  on  one  side  and  the 
Yuckaheres  on  the  other. 

Arminell  was  teased  both  by  the  drop  of  yolk  from  which 
she  could  not  withdraw  her  eye,  and  by  the  vehemence  of 
the  disputants,  and  by  the — to  her — uninteresting  nature  of 
the  topic  that  was  discussed.  She  forced  herself  to  look 
into  the  street,  and  observe  the  passers-by ; but  in  another 
minute  fell  to  ruminating  on  the  condition  of  the  gentleman’s 
beard,  to  wondering  whether  he  had  yet  wiped  the  egg-drop 
away,  or  why  his  friend  did  not  point  it  out  to  him  ; and 
then  her  eye  mechanically  travelled  back  to  the  beard,  and 
the  gamboge  spot  on  it.  Presently  a stout,  shabbily-dressed 
lady  entered  with  her  two  plain  daughters,  all  three  with  that 
grey  complexion  that  makes  one  think  the  heads  must  be 
cut  out  of  Jerusalem  artichoke.  The  mother  had  puffy 
cheeks,  and  small  beady  eyes.  She  talked  loudly  to  her 
daughters,  loudly  enough  to  be  heard  by  all  in  the  room, 
about  her  distinguished  acquaintances,  her  butler,  and  foot- 
men, and  lady’s-maid,  and  coachman,  and  carriages,  and 
gradually  subdued  the  gentlemen  who  had  been  arguing  over 
the  ethnology  of  Northern  Asia,  and  set  them  wondering 
how  it  was  that  this  stout  party  and  her  daughters  had  come 
to  so  small  an  inn,  and  were  not  occupying  a suite  in  the 
Hotel  Metropnle. 

Arminell  had  endured  the  talk  of  the  learned  men,  but 
the  vulgar  clack  of  this  underbred  woman  was  insupport- 


arminell.  335 

able.  She  rose  and  ascended  the  stairs  to  her  bedroom, 
which  was  now,  fortunately,  ready  lor  her. 

This  room  did  not  command  the  street.  It  looked  out  at 
the  mews,  and  beyond  the  mews  at  a row  of  brick  houses, 
seen  above  the  wall  enclosing  the  back  premises.  In  the 
mews  yard  were  some  carriages  being  washed,  and  grooms 
with  their  braces  discharged  from  their  right  shoulders, 
brushing  and  combing  their  horses.  Over  the  stables  were 
the  windows  of  the  dwellings  of  the  cabdrivers  and  their 
wives,  and  of  the  ostlers ; and  there  were  sickly  attempts  at 
flower  gardening  in  some  of  them.  Out  of  others  hung 
articles  of  clothing  to  be  aired  or  dried.  A multitude  of 
dingy  sparrow's  hopped  about  in  the  yard,  and  also  a con- 
siderable and  apparently  inexhaustible  number  of  equally 
dingy  children. 

Beyond  the  wall  of  the  backyard  of  a house  in  the  row 
was  a gaunt  Lombardy  poplar,  trunk  and  branches  sable  as 
the  stalks  of  maidenhair  fern.  What  a pretty  view  had 
been  that  which  Arminell  had  commanded  from  her  bed- 
room window  at  Orleigh  ! The  sweeps  of  green  turf  in  the 
park,  the  stately  trees,  the  cedars,  and  the  copper  beech, 
and  the  silver  birch  ! How  the  birds  had  sung  in  the 
morning  about  her  window  ! How  sweet  had  been  the  in- 
cense of  the  wisteria  trusses  of  lilac  flowers  entering  at  the 
open  casement ! 

What  would  her  father  say  at  her  departure  ? Into  what 
a predicament  had  she  put  him  ? She  had  forced  him  into 
one  from  which  he  could  not  escape  without  publishing  his 
own  dishonour,  without  allowing  his  wife,  and  the  parish, 
and  the  county,  and  society  generally  to  know  that  once  on 
a time  he  had  behaved  in  a manner  unworthy  of  a gentle- 
man to  a poor  servant  girl.  He  to  whom  every  one  in  the 
place,  in  the  county,  looked  up  as  a spotless  and  worthy 
John  Bull,  was  to  be  proclaimed  an  impostor,  and  made  the 
talk  of  idle  and  malicious  tongues. 


33& 


ARMINELL. 


“ If  a man  has  done  wrong,”  she  said  to  justify  her- 
self, “ he  must  bear  the  consequences.  It  is  cowardly 
to  try  and  hide  the  act,  evade  what  it  entails,  and  base  to 
appear  before  the  world  under  false  pretences.  Let  him 
acknowledge  the  wrong  he  has  done,  and  men  will  then 
respect  him  because  he  is  open,  and  does  not  shrink  from 
those  consequences  a wrong  act  brings  on  the  wrong-doer.” 

But  this  did  not  satisfy  her.  It  might  be  true,  it  was 
true,  that  this  was  the  only  right  and  honourable  course  for 
one  to  take  who  had  erred,  but — was  she,  his  daughter,  the 
proper  person  to  force  her  father  into  the  course  and  out  of 
the  road  he  had  elected  to  pursue  ? Was  it  for  her  hand  to 
rip  up  old  wounds,  and  drag  into  the  light  the  dark  secrets 
he  strove  to  bury  out  of  sight  ? Was  it  for  her  to  reveal  a stain 
which  disfigured  the  whole  house?  Was  it  for  her  to  shock 
her  step-mother,  and  disturb  her  trust  ? To  mar  the  domes- 
tic unity  and  mutual  esteem  which  had  been  so  perfect  ? 

Lady  Lamerton  had  her  weaknesses,  but  she  had  also 
her  strength,  and  her  strength  was  the  rectitude  of  her  heart, 
which  made  her  do  her  duty  with  all  her  power.  In  pursu- 
ance of  this  sense  of  duty,  Lady  Lamerton  had  been  unfail- 
ingly kind  to  Armineil.  The  girl,  looking  back,  saw  this 
now,  and  was  stung  with  self-reproach,  because  in  return  for 
this  treatment  she  cast  the  apple  of  discord  between  her 
father  and  mother,  and  broke  what  to  her  ladyship  was  the 
most  precious  jewel  she  possessed — her  reverence  for  my 
lord. 

And  how — when  it  pleased  Armineil  to  return  home  after 
all  the  disturbance  she  had  caused,  the  pain  and  humilia- 
tion she  had  occasioned — how  would  she  be  received  again 
by  those  she  had  wronged  and  hurt  ? She  had  no  doubt 
upon  this  point.  She  knew  that  she  would  be  received 
with  open  arms,  and  without  a word  of  reproach  from  one 
or  the  other. 

Then  Armineil  began  to  sob,  and  she  saw  no  more  the 


ARMINELL. 


337 


ostler  curricombing  his  horse,  nor  the  woman  shaking  a 
table-cloth  out  of  a window,  nor  the  sparrows  quarrelling 
for  the  crumbs,  nor  the  back  of  a maid  seated  outside  a 
house  on  a window-ledge  cleaning  the  glass,  or  she  saw 
these  things  through  a watery  film. 

She  was  roused  by  a tap  at  her  door.  She  hastily  dried 
her  eyes,  and  stood  up,  with  her  back  to  the  light,  that  her 
discomposure  might  be  unobserved,  and  called  to  the  per- 
son without  to  enter. 

A waiter  opened  the  door  and  announced  that  a gentleman 
had  called,  and  was  below  in  a private  sitting-room.  He  ex- 
tended a tray,  and  Miss  Inglett  took  from  it  a card,  and 
read,  “ Mr.  James  Welsh.” 

“ I will  come  down  directly,”  she  said. 

The  waiter  bowed  and  closed  the  door. 

Arminell  tarried  for  a moment  only,  to  recover  herself, 
and  then  descended.  She  expected  to  see  Jingles  with  his 
uncle,  but  he  was  not  in  the  room. 

“At  your  service,  Miss  Inglett.  I am  the  uncle  of  Hansel 
who  has  run  away  with  Grethel.  You  find  that  you  have 
not  come  to  the  cottage  of  almond  rock,  with  windows  of 
barley  sugar.  You  are  not,  I suppose,  interested  in  politics?” 

“No,  or  only  slightly.  Social  subjects — ” 

“ Neither  in  Monday’s  paper.  Never  in  my  life  saw  one 
with  less  of  interest  in  it,  no  news,  nothing  but  a Temper- 
ance Demonstration  at  Exeter  Hall,  presided  over  by  the 
Reverend  Jowles.  It  is  not  worth  your  while  looking  into 
a paper  to-day.” 

“ Is  Mr.  Saltren  returned  ? ” asked  Arminell. 

“ Damped  off,”  replied  Welsh.  “ That  is  a process 
whereby  an  amateur  loses  a good  many  cuttings  and  seed- 
lings. Hansel  came  to  me  with  any  amount  of  young  hopes 
and  ambitions  and  cockscombs — especially,  and  I have 
damped  them  all  off.  Expected  to  make  a fortune  in 
literature,  wanted  to  tread  the  walks  of  political  journalism 

Y 


33» 


ARMINELLv 


— as  well  try  to  tread  the  tight  rope  without  previous  educa- 
tion. Miss  Inglett,  you  will  see  no  more  of  him.  So  what 
is  Grethel  to  do  without  her  Hansel  ? ” 

He  paused  for  a minute  but  received  no  answer,  not, 
perhaps,  that  he  expected  one,  but  he  allowed  time  for  what 
he  had  said  to  soak  into  her  mind  before  he  went  on. 

“ There  is  a story,”  continued  Welsh,  who  purposely  spun 
out  what  he  had  to  say,  knowing  that  it  was  an  unpleasant 
dose,  and  therefore  to  be  mixed  with  jam.  “ There  is  a 
story  by  a classic  author,  whom  I have  read  only  in  English, 
concerning  a young  man  named  Lucius  who  once  saw  a 
woman  smear  herself  with  an  unguent,  whereupon  she  flew 
out  at  the  window,  transformed  into  a bird.  Lucius  got 
hold  of  the  unguent  and  applied  it  to  himself  and  found 
himself  to  have  become — not  a bird  by  any  means — simply 
an  ass.  Our  good  friend  has  been  going  through  the  same 
experience.  You,  Miss  Inglett,  have  spread  your  wings, 
and  Giles  comes  trotting  after  with  a bray.  You  need  not 
be  afraid — he  will  not  show  himself  again.  He  has  looked 
on  himself  in  a mirror,  and  is  hiding  his  ears.” 

“ Do  you  mean,  Mr.  Welsh,  that  your  nephew  has  de- 
serted me  ? ” 

“ The  ass  is  just  now  so  ashamed  of  himself,  that  he  is  in 
hiding.  But  no  more  about  him.  What  about  yourself? 
I place  myself  unreservedly  at  your  disposal.  I will  recon- 
duct you  to  Orleigh,  by  the  next  train,  and  telegraph  for  the 
carriage  to  meet  us  at  the  station.” 

“ I cannot  go  back — just  now.” 

“ Have  you  a relation,  a lady,  in  town  who  could  receive 
you  ? ” 

“ Lady  Hermione  Woodhead — my  aunt.” 

“Then  I will  take  you  to  her  at  once.” 

“ I cannot  go  to  her.” 

“Then  Mrs.  Welsh  will  be  happy  to  accommodate  you. 
She  is  without  a cook,  but  that  don’t  matter.  She  can  make 


ARMINELL. 


339 


good  pastry.  Come  along  with  me  to  Shepherd’s  Bush. 
There  will  be  rissoles  for  dinner  to-day  as  we  had  joint 
yesterday ; and  we  will  buy  a pair  of  soles  on  our 
way.” 

“ I cannot  understand,”  said  Arminell.  “ I came  here 
with  your  nephew.  I suppose  you  are  aware  that  he  is  my 
half-brother.” 

“ Half-fiddlesticks,”  exclaimed  Mr.  Welsh.  “My  dear 
young  lady,  you  have  been  carried  off  your  feet  by  romantic 
fancies,  which  at  a certain  ingenious  age  inflate  the  head  as 
carburetted  hydrogen  does  a goldbeaterskin  bag.  Giles  has 
been  in  the  same  condition,  but  I have  pricked  the  bag  and 
let  out  the  nonsense.  Now  his  head  is  in  a condition  of 
collapse.  That  which  you  were  told  about  his  parentage  is 
all  nonsense.” 

“ Do  you  mean — ” Arminell  did  not  finish  the  sentence, 
she  was  interrupted  by  Welsh. 

“ Yes,  I do,”  he  said.  “ I know  all  the  circumstances. 
I know  more  about  them  than  my  sister  Marianne  supposes. 
Marianne  is  an  utter  liar,  has  a physical  infirmity,  I sup- 
pose, which  prevents  her  tongue  from  being  straight.  It 
describes  as  many  curls  as  a corkscrew  on  the  St.  Gothard 
line.  She  has  about  as  keen  a sense  of  truth  as  a Russian 
diplomatist,  and  as  much  bounce  as  General  Boulanger. 
Now,  then — -as  you  see  from  which  direction  the  wind  blows, 
and  where  lie  the  reefs,  perhaps  you  will  allow  a pilot  to 
come  unsignalled  on  board,  and  turn  your  head  off  the 
breakers.” 

“ I have  made  a mistake — a fatal  mistake,”  was  all  that 
Arminell  could  say,  dropping  her  hands  at  her  sides. 

“Those  are  precisely  my  nephew’s  words — literally  the 
same ; which  is  not  to  be  wondered  at,  because  you  have 
both  fallen  together  into  the  same  error.  Come,  I must 
help  you  out  of  your  difficulties.  What  will  you  do?  Go 
to  your  aunt  ? Return  home  ? Or  come  to  Shepherd’s 


340 


ARMINELL. 


Bush  to  rissoles  and  a pair  of  soles,  fried  or  boiled  as  you 
prefer  ? ” 

“ But  where  is  Mr.  Saltren?  I ought  to  see  him.” 

“ He  will  not  show  his  face  again.  He  is  at  the  present 
moment  like  blancmange  from  which  the  isinglass  has  been 
omitted,  in  a condition  of  mental  and  moral  imbecility.” 

A tap  at  the  door,  and  without  waiting  for  an  answer 
Giles  Inglett  Saltren  entered,  erect,  with  firm  step,  and  a 
resolute  face. 


CHAPTER  XXXVI. 


A RALLY. 

Giles  Inglett  Saltren  had  left  the  cab  at  Cumberland 
Gate,  when  the  momentary  faintness  had  passed.  He 
wished  to  be  alone,  in  the  fresh  air,  and  with  his  own 
thoughts.  His  uncle  had  detained  the  cab  till  he  saw  that 
his  nephew  was  better.  He  left  him  on  a bench  in  the 
park  and  bade  him  remain  there  till  his  return  from  the 
interview  with  Arminell. 

The  young  man  felt  the  relief  of  being  alone.  The 
vibration  of  the  carriage,  his  uncle’s  voice,  his  own  self- 
reproach,  had,  combined  with  the  shock  of  the  news  of 
his  lordship’s  death,  brought  about  the  slight  fit  of  uncon- 
sciousness. He  was  in  that  overwrought  condition  of 
nervous  tension  in  which  another  touch  would  be  insup- 
portable ; and  Welsh’s  finger  was  not  light,  he  twanged  the 
fibres  in  his  nephew’s  heart,  not  as  if  he  were  playing  a harp 
with  finger-balls,  but  as  if  he  were  performing  on  a zither 
with  his  nails.  The  air  was  cool ; the  bench  on  which 
Jingles  was  seated  had  not  another  occupant.  The  great 
open  space  in  Hyde  Park  devoted  to  political  meetings  was 
sparsely  peopled  at  that  time  in  the  morning  ; he  was  not 
likely  to  be  disturbed,  and  the  rumble  of  vehicles  along 
Uxbridge  Road  and  Oxford  Street  produced  a soothing 
effect  rather  than  the  contrary. 


ARMINELL. 


3** 

A Frenchman  was  walking  along  the  path  before  his 
bench  with  a walking-stick  ; he  had  found  a bit  of  slate  in 
the  way,  and  with  his  cane  he  flipped  it  along  a few  feet, 
then  stopped,  and  flipped  it  on  to  the  grass  ; went  upon  the 
turf  and  flipped  it  back  into  the  path.  Then  he  sent  it 
forward,  past  Jingles  on  his  bench,  and  so  on  as  far  as 
Cumberland  Gate,  where  the  young  man  lost  sight  of 
Monsieur,  and  was  unable  to  see  whether  he  continued  to 
drive  the  scrap  of  slate  before  him  up  Oxford  Street  in  the 
direction  of  his  haunts  in  Leicester  Square,  or  whether  he 
left  it  under  the  arch. 

Till  the  Frenchman  had  disappeared,  Giles  Saltren  did 
not  begin  to  consider  his  own  trouble.  He  could  not  do 
so  till  the  bit  of  slate  was  gone  beyond  his  range,  with 
Monsieur  after  it.  Watching  the  man  was  a sensible  relief 
to  him.  When  one  has  run,  a pause  allows  the  recovery  of 
breath,  and  abates  the  pulsations,  so  did  this  diversion  of 
attention  serve  to  relieve  Jingles,  to  lull  the  agony  of  re- 
morse, and  enable  his  mind  to  regain  something  of  evenness 
and  tone. 

When  a man  has  been  struck  on  the  head  by  a hammer, 
he  falls.  Jingles  had  received  three  stunning  blows,  and 
recovery  could  not  be  immediate.  His  sanguine  hopes  of 
living  by  his  pen  had  been  upset,  and  that  was  a blow  to 
his  self-esteem.  Then  his  belief  in  his  noble  parentage  had 
been  knocked  over.  And  lastly  he  had  heard  of  Lord 
Lamerton’s  death — and  whether  that  were  accidental  or 
not,  he  could  hardly  doubt  that  he  had  brought  it  about, 
for  his  lordship  would  not  have  left  his  guests  to  go  to  Chil- 
lacot,  had  he  not  been  impelled  to  do  so  by  learning  of  the 
elopement. 

There  are  moments  in  the  lives  of  most  of  us  when  we 
come  on  new  scenes  that  are  epoch-making  in  our  life’s- 
history.  I shall  never  forget  as  such  my  first  view  of  Mont 
Blanc,  from  the  Col  de  Balme,  and  of  a portion  of  the 


ARMINELL. 


343 


moon’s  surface  through  the  Cambridge  Observatory  teles- 
cope, or  the  first  sight  of  death.  Some  of  these  first  sights 
are  invested  with  pleasure  unutterable,  others  with  infinite 
pain  ; and  of  such  latter  are  often  those  peeps  within  our- 
selves which  we  sometimes  obtain. 

What  atmospheric  effects,  what  changing  lights,  all  beauti- 
ful, invest  the  outer  landscape  with  magic,  even  where  the 
scenery  is  tame.  How  rarely  is  it  unpleasing  to  the  eye. 
And  it  is  the  same  when  we  turn  our  eyes  inwards,  and 
contemplate  the  landscape  of  our  own  selves,  what  glories 
of  light  flood  all,  what  richness  of  foliage  clothes  all,  how 
picturesque  are  the  inequalities  ! How  vast  the  surface  to 
the  horizon  ! And  yet,  it  sometimes  happens,  not  often, 
and  not  even  to  all,  that  a shadow  falls  over  the  scene  and 
blots  out  all  its  comeliness,  and  then  ensues  a flare,  a light- 
ning flash,  and  we  see  all — no  longer  beautiful  but  infinitely 
ghastly. 

Saint  Theresa,  in  one  of  her  autobiographical  sketches, 
says  that  she  was  shown  her  own  self,  on  one  occasion  ot 
introspection,  not  as  she  was  wont  to  view  it,  but  as  it  was 
in  naked  reality,  and  she  could  never  after  recall  the  vision 
without  a shudder. 

Who  sees  himself  as  he  is  ? Who  wishes  to  do  so  ? 
Who  would  not  be  offended  were  you  to  exhibit  to  his  eyes 
a picture  of  himself  as  he  is  ? No  one  likes  his  own  photo- 
graph, for  the  sun  does  not  flatter.  But  no  photographs 
have  yet  been  taken  of  man’s  interior  self ; if  they  were,  no 
one  would  consent  to  look  on  his  own  ; he  would  spend  all 
his  fortune  in  buying  up  the  copies  and  destroying  the 
plates. 

We  are  accustomed  to  view  ourselves  as  those  do  who 
stand  on  the  Brocken,  magnified  a thousand  fold,  with 
rainbow  haloes  about  our  heads.  I have  known  a little 
fellow,  who  reached  my  elbow,  strut  with  infinite  conse- 
queime,  and  gesticulate  with  tragic  dignity  on  the  Brocken, 


344 


ARMINELL. 


before  his  own  shadow  projected  on  a cloud,  nimbus-girded, 
and  vast  as  the  All-Father  of  Norse  mythology.  A breath 
of  wind  passed,  and  the  phantom  vanished.  But  we  carry 
our  Brocken  shadow  about  with  us  everywhere,  and  posture 
to  it,  and  look  up  to  it,  with  an  awe  and  admiration  that 
slides  into  worship ; and  very  rarely  does  the  cold  east  wind 
sweep  it  away.  But  there  remains  this  consolation  to  the 
Brocken  shadow  worshipper,  that  when  the  phantom  form 
disappears,  nothing  remains  behind,  and  it  is  a satisfaction, 
a poor  one,  but  still  a satisfaction,  when  the  blast  has 
dispelled  our  ideal  self  before  which  we  have  bowed,  to 
discover  behind  it  simple  nonentity.  There  would  be  dis- 
enchantment indeed,  and  a graver  walk,  and  a more  subdued 
voice,  and  a less  self-asserting  tone,  but  there  would  not  be 
that  exquisite,  that  annihilating  horror  that  ensues  when  the 
scattering  of  the  vapour  discloses  a reality  the  reverse  at 
every  point  of  what  we  had  imagined. 

In  the  Egyptian  temples  hung  purple  curtains  embroidered 
with  gold,  and  censers  perpetually  smoked  before  the  veil, 
and  golden  lamps,  ever  burning,  diffused  a mellow  light 
through  the  sacred  enclosure.  What  was  behind  that  pic- 
tured spangled  veil,  within  the  holy  of  holies  ? Sometimes 
a hippopotamus  wallowing  on  straw — or  a chattering  crane — 
sometimes,  Nothing.  We  are  engaged  all  our  lives  in  the 
erection  of  magnificent  temples  about  ourselves,  and  in 
embroidering  gold-besprent  curtains,  and  in  the  burning  of 
frankincense,  and  in  the  kindling  and  feeding  of  lamps,  in 
these  tabernacles;  and  what  is  behind  the  veil?  Do  we 
know?  Do  we  ever  look?  We  paint  and  plate  with  gold 
ideal  representations  of  the  god  within  on  the  propylaeum 
of  our  temple,  but  what  resemblance  does  this  figure  bear 
to  the  reality?  Do  we  know?  Do  we  care  to  know?  Will 
we  not  rather  put  out  our  eyes  than  compare  them  ? If,  by 
chance,  a sudden  gleam  of  sun,  a puff  of  pure  air,  stir  the 
curtain  and  reveal  the  mystery,  with  what  haste  we  fly  to 


ARMINELL. 


345 


duplicate  the  veils,  to  blind  the  windows,  to  nail  the  curtains 
to  the  gilded  sideposts,  and  weight  them  with  lead.  How 
we  redouble  our  prostrations,  and  make  more  dense  the 
cloud  of  incense;  how  we  elaborate  our  ceremonial,  and 
when  the  hippopotamus  within  yawns,  or  the  ibis  chatters, 
we  clash  our  cymbals,  boom  our  drums,  peal  our  trumpets 
to  drown  the  utterance  of  the  god. 

There  was  in  Alexandria  no  god  like  unto  Serapis,  whose 
temple  was  the  wonder  of  the  world.  But  one  day  an 
impious  hand  struck  off  the  head,  and  out  of  the  gilded 
idol  rushed  a legion  of  rats.  There  is  no  god,  no  idol,  like 
the  ideal  self  within  the  veil ; but  it  does  not  chance  to 
every  one  as  it  chanced  to  Giles  Inglett  Saltren,  to  have  its 
head  knocked  off  and  see  the  vermin  scamper  out  of  it. 
When  that  does  happen,  that  is  a moment  never  to  be 
forgotten.  It  is  a moment  of  infinite  importance  in  the 
life-history,  it  is  a moment  determinative  of  the  future. 
The  worshippers  of  Serapis,  alter  that  terrible  spectacle, 
which  was  also  extremely  laughable,  stood  in  consternation ; 
and  at  that  moment  stood  also  at  the  fork  of  two  roads. 
Either  they  shuffled  off  to  the  left,  with  their  hands  in  their 
pockets,  damning  all  religion,  and  vowing  they  would 
believe  in  nothing  thenceforth,  or  they  moved  with  firm 
steps  along  the  right-hand  road  that  led  to  a truer  faith. 

The  same  takes  place  with  us  when  the  Serapis  of  our 
ideal  self  is  broken  and  reveals  the  nest  of  rats  within. 
Either  our  moral  nature  becomes  disintegrated,  and  breaks 
down  utterly  and  irremediably  into  unsightly  debris,  or  we 
turn  from  the  worship  of  ourselves  to  seek  elsewhere  our 
ideal,  and  looking  to  it,  attain  to  a nobler,  more  generous, 
an  altruistic  life. 

Mr.  James  Welsh  had  not  spared  Jingles;  he  had  told 
him  plainly,  even  coarsely,  what  he  thought  of  him,  but  no 
words  of  his  could  express  the  intensity  of  the  sense  of 
infamy  that  Giles  Inglett  felt.  For  a moment  he  had  been 


346 


ARM  I NELL. 


stunned,  numbed  as  bind  and  fo  >t  become  numbed  for 
awhile,  and  then  with  a tingling  and  needle-pricking,  the 
moral  juices  began  once  more  to  flow,  and  the  agony  of 
inner  pain  he  felt  was  the  pledge  of  moral  recovery. 

As  soon  as  Giles  Inglett  Saltren  began  to  consider  what 

were  the  consequences  drawn  upon  him  and  Arminell  by 

his  folly,  an  almost  overpowering  desire  came  over  him  to 

fly  from  England.  He  had  sufficient  money  to  pay  his 

pissage  across  the  Atlantic,  and  to  maintain  him  in  a new 

world  till  he  could  obtain  a suitable  situation.  In  a new 

world  he  might  begin  life  anew,  leaving  behind  his  old 

follies  and  faults,  and  make  a smooth  table  of  the  past.  In 

the  old  world  he  could  do  nothing  to  remedy  what  he  had 

wrought;  but  he  put  the  temptation  from  him.  He  saw 

that  to  yield  to  it  would  be  an  act  of  cowardice,  and  would 

result  in  moral  ruin.  Instinctively,  without  self-analysis,  he 

reached  the  conclusion  that  a single  course  lay  open  before 

him  if  he  were  to  save  his  moral  self  from  wreck.  The  same 

% 

moment  that  he  became  conscious  of  this,  he  stood  up,  and 
hailed  a passing  empty  hansom. 

That  moment  saw  the  beginning  of  a new  life  in  him  ; 
new  ends,  new  visions,  rose  before  his  eyes. 

Thus  it  was  that  Giles  Inglett  Saltren  entered  the  sitting- 
room  where  his  uncle  was  engaged  with  Arminell,  and  thus 
it  was  that  he  entered  it  a very  different  man  from  what  Mr. 
Welsh  had  described  him. 

“How  came  you  here?”  asked  the  journalist.  “Did 
not  I tell  you  to  remain  in  Hyde  Park  till  you  were 
wanted?” 

“ I have  come,”  answered  Giles  firmly,  “to  speak  to  Miss 
Inglett.  I have  a just  duty  to  perform  to  her,  to  clear  her 
mind  of  the  clouds  I have  brought  over  it.  Miss  Inglett,  I 
was  utterly  wrong  in  supposing  that  his  lordship  was — was 
— what  I let  you  believe  him  to  be,  my  father.  I did  him 
a grievous  wrong,  I imagined  it  possible  that  the  best  and 


ARMINELL.  34  7 

m\ws,  blameless  of  men  had  been  guilty  of  the  basest  con- 
d\\A  And  now  that  your  father  is  dead — ” 

‘ /;Vad  ! ” echoed  Armjnell. 

SaLnn  looked  at  bis  uncle.  He  had  supposed  that 
Welsh  had  broken  the  news  to  the  girl. 

“ Yes/’  v<aid  he,  and  his  voice,  which  before  was  firm,  gave 
way  for  a moment.  “ Your  father  is  dead.” 

“ Dead  1 ” again  repeated  Arminell,  and  put  her  hands  to 
her  brow.  Sh£  was  being  stunned  by  repeated  blows,  as 
Saltren  had  b^en  stunned.  “ Dead  ! Impossible.” 

“ Miss  Inglett,  it  is  as  well  that  you  should  know  all,  and 
know  it  at  once,  for  action  must  be  taken  immediately. 
Your  father  has  met  with  an  accident — he  has  been  found 
dead  after  a fall.  I shall  return  immediately  by  the  express 
to  Orleigh.  I go  to  my  mother  at  Chillacot.  You  must 
allow  my  uncle  at  once  to  escort  you  to  Lady  Hermione ; 
place  yourself  under  hey  protection,  and  confide  to  her  all 
the  particulars  of  your  leaving  home.  I will  see  Lady 
Lamerton,  and  she  shall  telogiaph  to  you  at  Lady  Her- 
mione’s  to  return  to  the  Park.  1 will  wire  at  once,  in  your 
name,  to  your  mother,  to  send  your  lady’s-maid  to  you  at 
your  aunt’s  in  Portland  Place.  Your  maid  will  find  you 
there,  and  attend  you  home  to  Orleigh.  It  is  possible  that 
by  this  means  your  running  away  from  home  with  me  may 
remain  unknown.  You  left  Orleigh  on  Saturday,  by  to-night 
your  maid  will  be  with  you  in  Portland  Place,  and  I shall 
be  seen  this  evening  at  Orleigh,  where  I shall  make  a point 
of  showing  myself.  It  is  therefore  not  likely  that  suspicions 
of  my  ever  having  left  may  arise.  Them  is  no  time  to  be 
lost.  You  will  hear,  all  too  soon,  the  particulars  of  your 
father’s  death — about  myself  I will  not  apeak.  I should 
be  ashamed  to  say  a word  in  self- justification,  and 
my  self-reproach  is  beyond  the  power  of  words  to  ex- 
press.” 

Arminell  turned  herself  about,  as  though  rotating  on  a 


34« 


arminell. 


pivot,  holding  her  temples  with  both  hands,  and  elbows  ex- 
tended. 

“ Yes,”  said  Mr.  Welsh,  “ this  is  well  considered.  Giles, 
it  shall  be  as  you  say.  I will  take  Miss  Inglett  at  once  to 
Portland  Place,  unless  she  prefers  that  I should  go  to  her 
ladyship,  and  prepare  her ; and  then  Miss  Inglett  can 
follow.  That  probably  will  be  the  least  painful  course.” 

Arminell  still  swung  herself  from  side  to  side.  She  was 
pale  as  ashes,  and  her  eyes  full  of  trouble  and  terror. 

“ I will  go  home  directly,  uncle,”  said  Giles.  “ I have 
acted  not  like  a fool  only,  but  wickedly,  and  I must  face 
the  consequences.” 

Arminell  remained  stationary,  and  released  her  temples. 

“ What  was  that  you  said  ? ” she  asked. 

“ As  I have  been  guilty,  not  of  indiscretion  only,  but  of  a 
crime,”  said  he,  gravely,  “ I must  face  the  consequences,  be 
they  what  they  may.”  Then  Arminell  drew  a long  breath. 
She  recovered  her  composure  for  a moment.  She  recalled 
what  had  been  her  judgment  on  her  father  when  she  thought 
him  guilty. 

“ I also,”  she  said,  and  her  voice  was  harsh,  “ I also  have 
been  guilty,  not  of  folly  only,  but  of  a crime.  I have  sinned 
against  my  dear,  dear  father.  I will  not  go  to  my  Aunt 
Hermione.  I will  not  go  back  to  Orleigh.” 

“ But  the  repentant  prodigal,”  said  Welsh,  “in  the  Gospel 
story  did  return.” 

“ When  the  father  was  at  home  to  receive  him,”  answered 
Arminell  sharply.  “ There  is  not — ” She  drew  another  long 
breath;  and  then  said,  “ 1 also  will  face  the  consequences.” 


CHAPTER  XXXVII. 


THE  TURN  OF  THE  TIDE, 

Giles  Saltren  caught  an  express  and  whirled  down  into 
the  west.  He  had  not  taken  a ticket  for  Orleigh  Road 
Station,  as  he  did  not  choose  to  get  out  there,  but  at  the 
nearest  town,  and  there  he  hired  a light  trap  in  which  he 
was  driven  to  within  half  a mile  of  Chillacot,  where  he  dis- 
missed the  vehicle  and  walked  on. 

He  had  resolved  what  to  do.  He  would  pay  a hasty  visit 
to  his  mother  and  then  go  on  to  the  village,  and  perhaps 
call  at  the  Rectory.  He  must  show  himself  as  much  as 
possible. 

He  had  hardly  left  the  trap,  when,  on  turning  a corner, 
he  came  on  Samuel  Ceely  and  Joan  Melhuish  walking  to- 
gether, arm  in  arm.  The  sight  brought  the  blood  into  his 
pale  face.  He  was  behind  the  pair,  and  he  was  able  to 
notice  the  shabbiness  of  the  old  man  and  the  ungainliness 
of  his  walk.  This  man  was  his  father.  To  him,  the 
meanest  in  the  parish — not  to  his  lordship,  the  highest — 
must  he  look  as  the  author  of  his  being. 

Joan  Melhuish  knew  nothing  of  Samuel’s  love  affair  with 
Marianne  Welsh.  She  looked  up  to  and  admired  the 
cripple,  seeing  him  in  the  light  of  her  girlish  fancy,  as  the 
handsome,  reckless  gamekeeper. 

Giles’s  foot  lagged,  but  he  kept  his  eyes  steadily  on  the 
man  slouching  along  before  him.  A new  duty  had  fallen  on 
him.  He  must  provide  for  the  cripple,  without  allowing  the 


35° 


ARMINELL. 


secret  of  his  relationship  to  become  known,  both  for  the 
sake  of  his  mother  and  for  that  of  the  trusting  Joan. 

Samuel  Ceely  heard  his  step  and  turned  his  head,  dis- 
engaged his  arm  from  the  woman,  and  extended  the  muti- 
lated hand  towards  the  young  man. 

“ I say — I say  ! ” began  he,  with  his  water-blue  eyes  fixed 
eagerly  on  Jingles.  “I  was  promised  a place  ; Miss  Ar- 
minell  herself  said  I should  have  work,  two  shillings  a day, 
sweeping,  and  now  they  say  she  has  gone  away  and  left  no 
directions  about  me.  If  you  can  put  in  a word  with  my 
lady,  or  with  my  lord,  mind  that  I was  promised  it.” 

“ How  can  you,  Samuel,  speak  of  my  lord,  when  you 
know  he  is  dead  ? ” 

“ My  lord  is  not  dead,”  answered  the  old  man  sharply. 
“ Master  Giles  is  now  my  lord.  I know  what  I am  about.” 

“ And  Samuel  would  do  the  work  wonderfully  well,” 
threw  in  Joan  ; “ of  all  the  beautifulest  things  that  ever  I see, 
is  Samuel’s  sweeping.  If  they  were  to  give  prizes  for  that  as 
they  do  for  ploughing,  Samuel  would  be  rich.” 

“ I should  like,”  said  Giles,  “to  have  some  particulars 
about  my  lord’s  death.” 

“ ’Tis  a terrible  job,  sure  enough,”  answered  the  woman. 
“And  folks  tell  strange  tales  about  it,  not  half  of  ’em  is 
true.  They’ve  sat  on  him  this  afternoon.” 

“ The  inquest  already  ? ” 

“Yes,  to  be  sure.  You  see  he  died  o’  Saturday,  so  he 
was  crowned  to-day.  Couldn’t  do  it  yesterday.” 

“ And  what  was  the  verdict  ? I have  been  to  Huxham 
to-day  ” — this  was  the  nearest  town. 

“ Samuel  can  tell  you  better  than  I,  sir,  I don’t  under- 
stand these  things.  But  it  do  seem  a funny  thing  to  crown 
a man  when  he  is  dead.” 

“ What  was  the  verdict  ? ” asked  Giles  of  Samuel. 
u Well,”  said  the  old  man,  shaking  his  head.  “ It  puzzled 
the  jury  a bit.  Some  said  it  was  an  accident,  and  some  that 


ARMINELL. 


351 


it  was  murder ; hut  the  worst  of  it  all  is,  that  it  will  drive 
my  sweeping  at  two  shillings  out  of  the  heads  of  my  lady 
and  Miss  Arminell.  They’ll  be  so  took  up  wi’  ordering  of 
mourning  that  they’ll  not  think  of  me — which  is  a crying 
shame.  If  his  lordship  could  but  have  lived  another  week 
till  1 was  settled  into  my  sweeping  and  victuals,  he  might 
have  died  and  welcome,  but  to  go  interfering  like  between 
me  and  two  shillings,  is  that  provoking  I could  swear.  Not 
that  I say  it  was  his  lordship’s  fault,  and  I lay  no  blame  on 

him,  but  folks  do  say,  that- ” 

“ There  now,  Samuel,”  interrupted  Joan.  “ This  is  young 
Mr.  Saltren  you  are  speaking  to  and  you  are  forgetting.” 

“ I’m  not  forgetting,”  grumbled  the  old  man  ; “ don’t  you 
be  always  of  a flurrying  me.  Why,  if  I had  had  my  situation 
as  was  promised  me,  we  might  have  married  and  reared  a 
family.  I reckon  one  can  do  that  on  two  shillings  a day, 
and  broken  victuals  from  the  kitchen.  I might  take  the 
case  into  court  and  sue  Captain  Saltren  for  damages.” 

“ Hush,  Samuel,”  interposed  Joan  nervously,  looking  at 
Giles. 

“ I ain’t  a-going  to  be  hushed  like  a baby,”  sajd  Samuel 
Ceely  irritably  ; “ I reckon  if  I don’t  get  my  place, 
w?e  can’t  marry,  and  have  a family,  and  where  will  my  do- 
mestic happiness  be  ? I tell  you,  them  as  chucked  his 
lordship  down  the  Cleave,  chucked  my  family  as  was  to  be 
down  with  him,  and  if  I can’t  bring  ’em  into  court  for 
murdering  his  lordship,  I can  for  murdering  my  family,  of 
as  healthy  and  red-cheeked  children  as  might  have  been — 
— all  gone,”  said  the  old  man  grimly.  “ All,  head  over 
heels  down  the  Cleave,  along  of  Lord  Lamerton.” 

a How  can  you  talk  so?”  said  Joan  reproachfully. 
“ You  know  you  have  no  children.” 

“ I might  have  had — a dozen  of  ’em — seven  girls  and 
five  boys,  and  I’d  got  the  names  for  them  all  in  my  head. 
I might  have  had  if  I’d  got  the  sweeping  and  the  broken 


352 


ARMINELL. 


victuals  as  I was  promised.  What’s  the  difference  in 
wickedness,  I’d  like  to  know  ? ” asked  the  old  man  sententi- 
ously,  and  figuring  out  his  proposition  on  Saltren’s  coat 
with  his  crooked  fingers.  “ What’s  the  odds  in  wickedness, 
chucking  over  a horrible  precipice  a dozen  sweet  and 
innocent  children  as  is,  or  as  is  to  be,  my  family  was  as 
certain  as  new  potatoes  in  June,  and  now — all  gone,  chucked 
down  the  Cleave.  It  is  wickedness.” 

“ What  is  that  you  hinted  about  Captain  Saltren  ? ” asked 
Giles  gravely. 

“ Oh,  I say  nothing,”  answered  old  Samuel  sourly.  “ I 
don’t  talk — I leave  that  to  the  woman.” 

“ It  does  seem  a pity,”  said  Joan.  “ Samuel  would  have 
been  so  useful.  He  might  have  gone  about  the  park  pick- 
ing up  the  sandwich-papers  and  the  corks  and  bottles,  after 
the  public.” 

“ But,”  said  the  young  man,  “ I really  wish  to  know  what 
the  talk  is  about  in  which  my  father’s  name  is  introduced.” 

“ Sir,  sir  ! folks’  tongues  go  like  the  clappers  in  the  fields 
to  drive  away  the  blackbirds.  A very  little  wind  makes  ’em 
rattle  wonderfully.” 

“ But  what  have  they  said  ? ” 

“Well” — Joan  hesitated.  She  was  a woman  of  delicate 
feeling.  “ Well,  sir,  you  must  not  think  there  is  anything  in 
it.  Tongues  cannot  rest,  and  what  they  say  to-day  they  un- 
say to-morrow.  Some  think  that  as  the  captain  was  so 
bitter  against  his  lordship,  and  denounced  him  as  ordained 
to  destruction,  that  he  may  have  had  a helping  hand  in  his 
death.  But,  sir,  the  captain  did  not  speak  so  strong  as  Mr. 
Welsh,  and  nobody  says  that  Mr.  Welsh  laid  a finger  on 
him.  Why  should  they  try  to  fix  it  on  your  father  and  not 
on  your  uncle  ? But,  sir,  there  is  no  call  to  fix  it  on  any 
one.  I might  walk  over  the  edge  of  the  Cleave.  If  a man 
goes  over  the  brink,  I reckon  he  needs  no  help  to  make 
him  go  to  the  bottom.” 


ARMINELL. 


353 


“ The  jury  couldn’t  agree,  Joan,”  said  Samuel.  “ Two  of 
’em  wanted  to  bring  in  wilful  murder  against  the  cap- 
tain.” 

“ So  they  did  against  his  lordship  in  the  case  of  Arkie 
Tubb.  But  that  was  nonsense.  His  lordship  wasn’t  there. 
And  this  is  nonsense,  just  the  same.” 

“ But  the  captain  was  nigh.  Mr.  Macduff  saw  him.” 

“ Well,  and  he  might  have  seen  me,  and  he  did  see  me  a 
little  while  afore,  as  I was  coming  from  Court  with  some 
baccy  money  for  you,  Samuel.  That  don’t  follow  that  I 
killed  his  lordship.  Mr.  Macduff  see’d  also  Farmer  Yole’s  old 
grey  mare.  Be  you  a going  accusing  of  that  old  mare  of 
having  had  a hoof  in  his  lordship’s  death  ? ” 

“ Where  did  Mr.  Macduff  see  my  father?”  asked  the 
young  man. 

“ On  the  down.  But  he  didn’t  see  him  speak  to  his  lord- 
ship,  and  he  couldn’t  tell  to  half  an  hour  or  three-quarters 
when  it  was.  So  the  crowner  discharged  the  jury,  just  as  he 
did  in  the  case  of  Arkie,  and  he  got  together  another,  and 
they  found  that  his  lordship  had  done  it  accidental.” 

“For  all  that,”  growled  Samuel,  “folks  will  always  say 
that  the  captain  helped  him  over,  as  he  was  so  set  against 
him.” 

“Then,”  said  Joan,  “it  is  a shame  and  a sin  if  they  do. 
It  is  one  thing  to  talk  against  a person,  and  another  thing 
to  lift  a hand  against  him.  I’ve  said  hard  things  of  you, 
scores  of  times  ; I’ve  said  you  never  ought  to  have  taken  the 
game  and  sent  it  off  by  the  mail-cart  when  you  was  keeper, 
and  that  you  couldn’t  have  blown  off  your  hand  if  you’d  not 
gone  poaching,  nor  put  out  your  hip  if  you’d  been  sober — 
I’ve  said  them  cruel  things  scores  o’  times,  but  never  laid  a 
finger  on  you  to  hurt  you.  I couldn’t  do  it — as  you  know 
very  well.” 

She  cast  an  affectionate  glance  at  the  cripple  ; then  she 
went  on,  “ Lord  1 I forgive  and  excuse  all  the  frolics  of  your 

z 


354 


ARMINELL. 


youth  ; and  folks  always  says  things  rougher  than  they  mean 
them.” 

Instead  of  going  on  to  Chillacot,  as  he  had  at  first  in- 
tended, Giles  now  resolved  on  following  the  road  to  the 
village,  and  returning  home  later.  He  must  lose  no  time 
in  showing  himself.  He  trusted  that  in  the  excitement 
caused  by  the  death  of  Lord  Lamerton  no  questions  would 
be  raised  about  Arminell,  and  any  little  suspicions  which 
might  have  been  wakened  by  her  sudden  departure  would 
be  allayed. 

He  was  not  altogether  easy  about  his  father,  nor  satisfied 
with  Joan’s  justification  of  him.  That  the  jury  had  returned 
a verdict  of  accidental  death  was  a relief  to  his  mind,  but  it 
made  him  uncomfortable  to  think  that  suspicion  against  his 
father  should  be  entertained.  Giles  had  little  or  no  know- 
ledge of  his  father’s  new  craze.  He  knew  that  the  captain 
was  a fanatic  who  went  heart  and  soul  with  whatever  com- 
mended itself  to  his  reason  or  prejudice.  At  one  time  he 
took  up  hotly  the  subject  of  vegetarianism,  then  he  became 
infatuated  with  Anglo-Israelism,  then  he  believed  vehemently 
in  a quack  syrup  he  saw  advertised  in  a Christian  paper, 
warranted  to  cure  all  disorders  ; after  that  he  became  posses- 
sed with  the  teetotal  mania,  and  attributed  all  the  evils  in  the 
world,  war,  plagues,  earthquakes,  popery,  and  foot-and-mouth 
disease  to  the  use  of  alcohol.  Recently  he  had  combined 
his  religious  vagaries  with  political  theories,  and  had  made 
a strange  stir-about  of  both.  His  trouble  at  losing  his  situ- 
ation as  captain  of  the  manganese  mine,  and  his  irritation 
against  the  railway  company  for  wanting  Chillacot  had  com- 
bined to  work  him  into  a condition  of  unusual  excitability. 
Giles  had  heard  that  his  father  had  seen  a vision,  but  of 
what  sort  he  had  not  inquired,  because  he  was  entirely  out 
of  sympathy  with  the  spiritual  exaltations  and  fancies  of  his 
father. 

The  village  of  Orleigh  was  not  what  is  commonly  termed 


ARM  I NELL. 


355 


a “ church  town,”  that  is  to  say,  it  was  not  clustered  about 
the  church,  which  stood  in  the  park,  near  the  mansion  of 
the  Ingletts.  In  ancient  days,  when  the  population  was 
sparse,  the  priest  drew  his  largest  congregation  from  the 
manor  house,  and  therein  he  lived  as  chaplain  and  tutor ; 
consequently  in  many  places  we  find  the  parish  church 
situated  close  to  the  manor  house,  and  away  from  the 
village  which  had  grown  up  later.  It  was  so  at  Orleigh.  The 
village  consisted  of  a green,  with  an  old  tree  in  the  midst, 
an  ale-house,  the  Lamerton  Arms,  a combined  grocery  and 
grocery  store,  which  was  also  post-office,  a blacksmith’s 
forge,  and  half-a-dozen  picturesque  cottages  white- was  lied, 
with  red  windows  and  thatched  roofs.  Most  of  these 
houses  had  flower  gardens  before  their  doors,  encouraged 
thereto  by  an  annual  Floricultural  Society  which  gave 
prizes  to  those  villagers  who  had  the  neatest,  most  cheerful 
and  varied  gardens. 

Jingles  found  knots  of  men  standing  about  the  green, 
some  were  coming  out  of,  others  about  to  enter,  the  public- 
house  door ; another  knot  clustered  about  the  forge. 
Women  were  not  wanting,  to  throw  in  words. 

The  dusk  of  evening  had  settled  in,  so  that  at  first  none 
noticed  the  approach  of  the  young  man.  He  came,  not  by 
the  road,  but  across  by  the  blacksmith’s  garden,  where  a 
short  cut  saved  a round.  Thus  he  was  in  the  midst  of  the 
men  before  they  were  aware  that  he  was  near. 

He  could  not  catch  all  that  was  being  said,  but  he  heard 
that  the  death  of  Lord  Lamerton  occupied  their  minds  and 
exercised  their  tongues.  His  father’s  name  was  also  freely 
bandied  about. 

“ I say,”  exclaimed  the  village  tailor,  in  a voice  like  that 
of  a corncrake,  “ I say  that  Cap’n  Saltren  did  it.  What  do 
you  consider  the  reason  why  the  coroner  discharged  the 
jury  and  called  another  ? I know,  if  you  do  not.  You 
don’t  perhaps  happen  to  know,  but  I do,  that  Marianne 


ARMINELL. 


356 

Saltren's  aunt,  old  Betsy  Welsh,  washes  for  the  coroner. 
Nothing  more  likely,  were  he  to  allow  a verdict  against  the 
captain,  than  that  his  shirt-fronts  would  come  home  iron- 
moulded,  Don't  tell  me  there  was  no  evidence.  Evidence 
is'  always  to  be  had  if  looked  for.  Evidence  is  like  snails’ 
horns,  thrust  forth  or  drawn  in,  according  to  circumstances. 
If  the  coroner  had  wanted  evidence,  he  could  have  had  it. 
But  he  was  thinking  of  his  shirt-front,  and  he,  maybe,  going 
out  to  a dinner-party.  It  is  easy  done,  boil  an  old  nail 
along  with  the  clothes,  and  pounds  worth  of  linen  is  spoiled. 
I don't  blame  him,"  concluded  the  tailor  sententiously. 
“ Human  nature  is  human  nature." 

“ And,"  shouted  a miner,  “ facts  is  facts  but  he  pro- 
nounced them  fax . 

“ Lord  Lamerton,"  said  a second  miner,  “ wanted  to 
make  a new  road,  and  carry  it  to  Chillacot.  The  cap'n 
didn't  like  it,  he  didn't  want  to  have  a station  there.  He 
was  set  against  his  lordship  on  that  account,  for  his  lordship 
was  a director.  If  you  can  prove  to  me  that  his  lordship 
wasn't  a director,  then  I shall  admit  he  may  have  come  by 
his  death  naturally.  I say  naught  against  his  lordship  for 
not  wanting  to  have  his  house  undermined,  but  I do  say 
that  the  cap’n  acted  unreasonably  and  wrongly  in  not 
letting  the  company  have  Chillacot  for  the  station.  If  he'd 
have  done  that,  his  lordship  would  have  found  us  work  on 
the  road." 

“Ah,  Gloyne,"  called  the  other  miner,  “that's  it.  Fax  is 

fax.' 


CHAPTER  XXXVI I L 


THE  RISE  OF  THE  TIDE. 

“Come  here,”  shouted  the  blacksmith,  who  was  outside  his 
shop,  and  still  wore  his  apron,  and  the  smut  and  rust  on  his 
hands  and  face.  “Come  here,  Master  Jingles.  You’ve 
come  into  the  midst  of  us,  and  we  want  to  know  something 
from  you.  Where  is  your  father  ? We’ve  seen  nothing  of 
him  since  Friday.  If  he  has  not  been  at  mischief,  why 
don’t  he  come  forward  like  a man  ? Why  don’t  your  father 
show  his  face  ? He  ain’t  a tortoise,  privileged  to  draw  it  in, 
or  a hedgehog,  at  liberty  to  coil  it  up.  Where  is  he?  He 
is  not  at  home.  If  he  is  hiding,  what  is  he  hiding  from  un- 
less he  be  guilty  ? ” 

“He  may  have  gone  after  work,”  said  young  Saltren. 

“ I heard  him  say,”  said  the  shoemaker,  “that  his  lord- 
ship  was  doomed  to  destruction.” 

“ I know  he  said  it,”  answered  the  blacksmith,  “ and  I 
ask,  is  a man  like  to  make  a prophecy  and  not  try  to  make 
what  he  said  come  to  pass  ? ” 

“ Human  nature  is  human  nature,”  threw  in  the  tailor. 

“ And  fax  is  fax,”  added  the  miner. 

“Then,”  pursued  the  blacksmith,  “let  us  look  at  things 
as  they  affect  us.  His  lordship  has  kept  about  twenty-three 
horses— hunters,  cobs,  ponies  and  carriage  horses — and 
each  has  four  hoofs,  and  all  wants  shoeing  once  a month, 


358 


ARM  IN  ELL. 


and  some  every  fortnight.  That  brings  me  in  a good  part 
of  my  living.  Very  well.  I ask  all  who  hear  me,  is  his 
lordship  like  to  keep  such  a stud  now  he  is  dead  ? Is  he 
like  to  want  hunters  ? I grant  you,  for  the  sake  of  argu- 
ment, that  the  young  lady  and  young  gentleman  will  have 
their  cobs  and  ponies,  but  will  there  be  anything  like  as 
many  horses  kept  as  there  have  been  ? No,  in  reason  there 
cannot  be.  So  you  may  consider  what  a loss  to  me  is  the 
death  of  his  lordship.  My  worst  personal  enemy  couldn't 
have  hit  me  harder  than  when  he  knocked  Lord  Lamerton 
over  the  Cleave.  He  as  much  as  knocked  a dozen  or 
fourteen  horses  over  with  him,  each  with  four  hoofs,  at 
sixpence  a shoe,  and  shod,  let  us  say,  eighteen  times  in  the 
year.” 

“ You  are  right,”  put  in  the  tailor,  “landed  property  is 
tied  up,  and  his  lordship’s  property  is  tied  up — tied  up  and 
sealed  like  mail  bags — till  the  young  lord  comes  of  age, 
which  will  not  be  for  eleven  years.  So,  Blatchford,” — ad- 
dressing the  blacksmith — “ you  must  multiply  your  horses 
by  eleven.” 

“ That  makes,”  said,  the  smith,  working  out  the  sum  in 
chalk  on  the  shutter  of  the  shop,  “ say  fourteen  horses 
eighteen  times — two  hundred  and  two — and  by  four — and 
again  by  eleven — and  halved  because  of  sixpences,  that 
makes  five  hundred  and  fifty-four  pounds ; then  there  were 
odd  jobs,  but  them  I won’t  reckon.  Whoever  chucked 
Lord  Lamerton  down  the  Cleave  chucked  five  hundred  and 
fifty-four  pounds  of  as  honestly-earned  money  as  ever  was 
got,  belonging  to  me,  down  along  with  him.” 

“ Fax  is  fax,”  said  the  miner. 

“ And  human  nature  is  human  nature  to  feel  it,”  added 
the  tailor. 

“ There’s  another  thing  to  be  considered,”  said  a game- 
keeper.  “ In  the  proper  sporting  season,  my  lord  had  down 
scores  of  gentlemen  to  shoot  his  covers,  and  that  brought 


ARMINELL. 


359 


me  in  a good  many  sovereigns  and  half-sovs.  Now,  I’d 
like  to  know,  with  the  family  in  mourning,  and  the  young 
lord  not  able  to  handle  a gun,  will  there  be  a house  full  of 
gentlemen?  It  wouldn’t  be  decent.  And  that  means  the 
loss  of  twenty  pound  to  me — if  one  penny.” 

“Nor  is  that  all,”  said  the  tailor,  “you’ll  have  Macduff  to 
keep  an  eye  on  you,  not  my  lord.  There’ll  be  no  more 
chucking  of  hampers  into  the  goods  train  as  it  passes  Cop- 
ley Wood,  I reckon.” 

The  keeper  made  no  other  reply  than  a growl,  and  drew 
back. 

“ There  is  my  daughter  Jane,  scullery-maid  at  the  Park,” 
said  the  shoemaker,  “ learning  to  be  a cook.  If  her  lady- 
ship shuts  up  the  house,  and  leaves  the  place,  what  will 
become  of  Jane?  It  isn’t  the  place  I grieve  for,  nor  the 
loss  of  learning,  for  places  ask  to  be  filled  now,  and  any 
one  will  be  taken  as  cook,  if  she  can  do  no  more  than 
boil  water — but  it  is  the  perquisites.  My  wife  was  uncom- 
mon fond  of  jellies  and  sweets  of  all  sorts,  and  I don’t  suppose 
these  are  to  be  picked  off  hedges,  when  the  house  is  empty.” 
“ Here  comes  Farmer  Labett,”  exclaimed  the  tailor.  “ I 
say,  Mr.  Labett,  did  not  his  lordship  let  off  five-and-twenty 
per  cent,  from  his  rents  last  fall  ? ” 

“ That  is  no  concern  of  yours,”  replied  the  farmer. 

“ But  it  does  concern  you,”  retorted  the  tailor,  “ for  now 
that  his  lordship  is  dead,  the  property  is  tied  up  and  put  in 
the  hands  of  trustees,  and  trustees  can’t  remit  rents.  If 
they  were  to  do  so,  the  young  lord,  when  he  comes  of  age, 
might  be  down  on  them  and  make  them  refund  out  of  their 
own  pockets.  So  that  away  over  the  rocks,  down  the 
Cleave,  went  twenty-five  per  cent,  abatement  when  his  lord- 
ship  fell,  or  was  helped  over.” 

“Ah!”  groaned  the  shoemaker,  “and  all  them  jellies, 
and  blano-mange,  and  custards  was  chucked  down  along  of 
him.” 


36° 


ARMINELL. 


“ And  now,”  said  another,  “ Macduff  will  have  the  rule. 
Afore,  if  we  didn’t  like  what  Macduff  ordained,  we  could 
go  direct  to  his  lordship,  but  now  there  will  be  no  one  above 
Macduff  but  trustees,  and  trustees  won’t  meddle.  That 
will  be  a pretty  state  of  things,  and  his  wife  to  ride  in  a 
victoria,  too.” 

Then  a woman  called  Tregose  pushed  her  way  through 
the  throng,  and  with  loud  voice  expressed  her  views. 

“ I don’t  see  what  occasion  you  men  have  to  grumble. 
Don’t  y’  see  that  the  family  will  have  to  go  into  mourning, 
and  so  get  rid  of  their  colours,  and  we  shall  get  them. 
There’s  Miss  Arminell’s  terra-cotta  I’ve  had  my  eye  on  for 
my  Louisa,  but  I never  reckoned  on  having  it  so  soon. 
There  never  was  a wind  blowed,”  argued  Mrs.  Tregose, 
“that  was  an  unmixed  evil,  and  didn’t  blow  somebody 
good.  If  this  here  wind  have  blpwed  fourteen  horses,  and 
jellies  and  twenty-five  per  cent,  and  the  keeper’s  tips  over 
the  Cleave — it  ha’  blovved  a terra-cotta  gown  on  to  my 
Louisa.” 

“ But,”  argued  the  tailor  in  his  strident  voice,  “supposing, 
in  consequence  of  the  death,  that  her  ladyship  and  the 
young  lady  and  the  little  lord  give  up  living  here,  and  go 
for  education  to  London  or  abroad,  where  will  you  be,  Mrs. 
Tregose,  for  their  cast  gowns  ? Your  Louisa  ain’t  going  to 
wear  that  terra-cotta  for  eleven  years,  I reckon.” 

“ There’s  something  in  that,”  assented  the  woman,  and 
her  mouth  fell.  “ Yes,”  she  said,  after  a pause  for  con- 
sideration, “ who  can  tell  how  many  beautiful  dresses  and 
bonnets  and  mantles  have  gone  over  the  Cleave  along  with 
the  blanc-mange,  and  the  horses  and  the  five-and-twenty 
per  cent.?  I’m  uncommon  sorry  now  his  lordship  is  dead.” 

“I’ve  been  credibly  informed,”  -said  the  tailor,  “that  his 
lordship  laid  claim  to  Chillacot,  and  said  that  because  old 
Gaffer  Saltren  squatted  there,  that  did  not  constitute  a title. 
Does  it  give  a rook  a title  to  a Scotch  fir  because  he  builds 


ARMINELL. 


361 


a nest  on  it?  Can  the  rook  dispose  of  the  timber?  Can 
it  refuse  to  allow  the  tree  to  be  cut  down  and  sawn  up,  for 
and  because  he  have  sat  on  the  top  of  it  ? I’ve  an  old 
brood-sow  in  my  stye.  Does  the  stye  belong  to  the  sow  or 
to  me  ? 99 

“ Fax  is  fax,”  assented  the  miner. 

“And,”  urged  the  blacksmith,  “if  his  lordship  wanted  to 
get  the  land  back,  why  not?  If  I lend  my  ladder  to  Farmer 
Eggins,  haven’t  I a right  to  reclaim  it  ? His  lordship  asked 
for  the  land  back,  not  because  he  wanted  it  for  himself,  but 
in  the  interest  of  the  public,  to  give  us  a station  nigh  at 
hand,  instead  of  forcing  us  to  walk  three  and  a half  or  four 
miles,  and  sweat  terrible  on  a summer’s  day.  And  his  lord- 
ship  intended  to  run  a new  road  to  Chillacot,  where  the 
station  was  to  be,  and  so  find  work  for  hands  out  of  employ, 
and- he  said  it  would  cost  him  a thousand  pounds.  And 
now,  there  is  the  new  road  and  all  it  would  have  cost  as 
good  as  thrown  over  the  Cleave  along  with  his  lordship.” 

“ The  captain — he  did  it,”  shouted  the  blacksmith, 

“ Fax  speak,  they  are  fax.  Skin  me  alive,  if  they  baint,” 
said  the  miner. 

Giles  Inglett  Saltren  had  heard  enough.  He  raised  his 
voice  and  said,  “Mr.  Blatchford,  and  the  rest  of  you — some 
insinuate,  others  openly  assert  that  my  father  has  been 
guilty  of  an  odious  crime,  that  he  has  had  a hand  in  the 
death  of  Lord  Lamerton.” 

He  was  interrupted  by  shouts  of  “ He  has,  he  has  ! We 
know  it ! ” 

“How  do  you  know  it?  You  only  suppose  it.  You 
have  no  grounds  absolutely,  no  grounds  for  basing  such  a 
supposition.  The  coroner,  as  yourselves  admit,  refused  to* 
listen  to  the  charge.” 

A voice : “ He  was  afraid  of  having  his  shirt-fronts 
moulded.” 

“ Here,  again,  you  bring  an  accusation  as  unfounded  as 


362 


ARM1NELL. 


it  is  absurd,  against  an  honourable  man  and  a Crown 
official.  If  you  had  been  able  to  produce  a particle  of 
evidence  against  my  father,  a particle  of  evidence  to  show 
that  what  you  imagine  is  not  as  hollow  as  a dream,  the 
coroner  would  have  hearkened  and  acted.  Are  you  aware 
that  this  bandying  of  accusations  is  an  indictable  offence  ? 
My  father  has  not  hurt  you  in  any  way.” 

This  elicited  a chorus  of  cries. 

“ He  has  spoiled  my  shoeing.”  “ He  has  prevented  the 
making  of  the  road.”  “ My  wife  will  never  have  blanc-mange 
again.”  And  Samuel  Ceely,  now  arrived  on  the  scene,  in 
whispering  voice  added,  “ All  my  beautiful  darlings — twelve 
of  them,  as  healthy  as  apples,  and  took  their  vaccination 
well— all  gone  down  the  Cleave.” 

It  really  seemed  as  if  the  happiness,  the  hopes,  the 
prosperity  of  all  Orleigh,  had  gone  over  the  edge  of  the  cliff 
with  his  lordship. 

“ I repeat  it,”  exclaimed  the  young  man,  waxing  warm ; 
“ I repeat  it,  my  father  never  did  you  an  injury.  You  are 
now  charging  him  with  hurting  you,  because  you  suffer 
through  his  lordship’s  death,  and  you  are  eager  to  find  some 
one  on  whom  to  cast  blame.  As  for  any  real  sorrow  and 
sympathy,  you  have  none  ; wrapped  up  in  your  petty  and 
selfish  ends.” 

A voice : “.Fax  is  fax — he  did  kill  Lord  Lamerton.” 

The  tailor : “ Human  nature  is  human  nature,  and 
nobody  can  deny  he  prophesied  my  lord’s  death.” 

“ I dare  you  to  charge  my  father  with  the  crime,”  cried 
young  Saltren.  “ I warn  you.  I have  laid  by  a little 
money,  and  I will  spend  it  in  prosecuting  the  man  who 
does.” 

“ We  all  do.  Prosecute  the  parish,”  rose  in  a general 
shout. 

“ My  father  is  incapable  of  the  crime.” 

“We  have  no  quarrel  with  you,  young  Jingles,”  roared  a 


ARMINELL.  ' 363 

miner.  “ Our  contention  is  with  the  captain.  Mates,  what 
do  y’  say  ? Shall  we  pay  him  a visit  ? ” 

“Aye — aye  1 ” from  all  sides.  ‘Let  us  show  him  our 
minds." 

A boisterous  voice  exclaimed  : “ Well  serve  him  out  for 
taking  the  bread  out  of  our  mouths.  Well  tumble  his 
house  about  his  ears.  He  sha’n’t  stand  in  our  light  any  more.” 

And  another  called,  “If  you  want  to  prosecute  us,  well 
provide  you  with  occasion.  ” 

Then  a stone  was  flung,  which  struck  Jmgles  on  Lb-e  head 
and  knocked  him  down. 

For  a few  minutes  the  young  man  was  unconscious,  or 
rather  confused,  he  never  quite  lost  his  senses.  The 
women  clustered  about  him,  and  Mrs.  Tregose  threw  water 
in  his  face. 

He  speedily  gathered  his  faculties  together,  and  stood  up, 
rather  angry  than  hurt,  to  see  that  nearly  all  the  men  had 
departed.  The  act  of  violence,  instead  of  quelling  the 
excitement,  had  stirred  it  to  greater  heat ; and  the  body  of 
men,  the  miners,  labourers,  the  blacksmith,  tailor,  and  shoe- 
maker, their  sons  and  apprentices,  went  off  in  a shouting, 
gesticulating  rabble  in  the  direction  of  the  Cleave,  not  of 
Chillacot,  but  of  the  down  overhanging  it. 

In  a moment  the  latent  savage,  suppressed  in  those 
orderly  men,  was  awake  and  asserting  itself.  Mr.  Welsh 
had  spoken  the  truth  when  he  told  Jingles  that  the 
destiuctive  passion  was  to  be  found  in  all;  it  was  aroused 
now.  The  blacksmith,  the  tailor,  the  shoemaker,  the 
labourers,  had  all  in  their  several  ways  been  working  con- 
structively all  their  life,  one  to  make  shoes  and  harrows, 
one  to  shape  trousers  and  waistcoats,  one  to  put  together 
boots,  others  to  build,  and  plant,  and  stack,  and  roof,  and 
now,  all  at  once,  an  appeal  came  to  the  suppressed  barbarian 
in  each,  the  chained  madman  in  the  asylum,  and  the  de- 
structive faculty  was  loose  and  rioting  in  its  freedom. 


364 


ARM  I NELL. 


Thomasine  Kite  stood  before  the  young  man.  “ Now, 
then,”  she  said  half  mockingly,  “ if  you  want  to  save  your 
mother  out  of  the  house  before  the  roof  is  broke  in,  you 
must  make  haste.  Come  along  with  me." 


CHAPTER  XXXIX. 


THE  FLOW  OF  THE  TIDE* 

Captain  Saltren  returned  at  night  to  sleep  at  Chillacot, 
but  he  wandered  during  the  day  in  the  woods,  with  his 
Bible  in  his  pocket  or  in  his  hand,  now  reading  how  Gideon 
was  raised  up  to  deliver  Israel  from  Midian,  and  Samson 
was  set  apart  from  his  mother’s  womb  to  smite  the  Philis- 
tines, then  sitting  at  the  edge  of  the  quarry  brooding  over 
his  thoughts. 

He  was  not  able  to  fix  his  mind  for  long  on  anything, 
and  he  found  that  the  Scripture  only  interested  and  arrested 
his  attention  so  far  as  it  touched  on  analogous  trains  of 
ideas.  For  the  first  time  in  his  life  a chilling  sense  of 
doubt,  a cold  suspicion  of  error  stole  over  his  heart.  When 
this  was  the  case  he  was  for  a moment  in  agony,  his  nerves 
tingled,  his  throat  contracted,  and  a clammy  sweat  broke 
out  over  his  face.  The  fit  passed,  and  he  was  again  confi- 
dent, and  in  his  confidence  strong.  He  raised  his  voice 
and  intoned  a hymn,  then  became  frightened  at  the  sound, 
and  stopped  in  the  midst  of  a stanza. 

Presently  he  recalled  his  wife’s  deceptions  and  how  his 
heart  had  foamed  and  leaped  at  the  thought  of  the  wrong 
done  her  and  himself,  and  how  he  had  nourished  a deadly 
hatred  against  Lord  Lamerton  on  that  account.  Now  he 
knew  that  there  had  been  no  occasion  for  this  hatred. 


366 


ARM  IN  ELL. 


What  had  he  done  to  his  lordship  ? Had  he  ready  with 
his  hand  thrust  him  over  the  precipice,  or  had  the  nobleman 
fallen  in  stepping  back  to  avoid  the  blow.  Either  way  the 
guilt,  if  guilt  there  were,  rested  on  Saltren’s  head  ; but  the 
captain  would  not  listen  to  the  ever  welling-up  suggestion 
that  there  was  guilt.  It  was  not  he  who  had  killed  his 
lordship,  it  was  the  hand  of  God  that  had  slain  him,  be- 
cause the  hand  of  human  justice  had  failed  to  reach  him. 
The  captain  entertained  little  or  no  personal  fear — he  was 
ready,  if  it  were  the  will  of  heaven,  to  appear  before  magis- 
trates and  juries;  before  them  he  would  testify  as  the 
apostles  had  testified.  If  it  were  the  will  of  heaven  that  he 
should  die  on  the  gallows,  he  was  ready  to  ascend  the 
scaffold,  sure  of  receivin  g the  crown  of  glory  ; perhaps  the 
world  was  not  ripe  to  receive  his  mission. 

When  that  wave  of  horror  swept  over  him,  no  fear  of  the 
consequences  of  his  act  helped  to  chill  the  wave  ; his  only 
horrible  apprehension  was  lest  he  should  have  made  a 
mistake.  This  it  was  that  lowered  his  pulsation,  turned 
his  lips  blue,  and  made  a cloud  come  between  him  and  the 
landscape.  He  fought  against  the  doubt,  battled  with  k as 
against  a temptation  of  the  Evil  One,  but  as  often  as  he 
overcame  it,  it  returned.  The  discovery  that  he  had  been 
deceived  by  Marianne  into  believing  that  Lord  Lamerton 
had  njured  him,  was  the  little  rift  in  his  hitherto  unbroken 
all-enveloping  faith  ; but  even  now  he  had  no  doubt  about 
the  vision,  but  only  as  to  its  purport.  That  he  had  seen 
and  heard  all  that  he  professed  to  have  seen  and  heard— 
that  he  believed  still,  but  he  feared  and  quaked  with  appre- 
hension lest  he  should  have  misread  his  revelation. 

It  is  not  easy,  rather  is  it  impossible,  for  a man  of  educa- 
tion surrounded  as  he  has  been  from  infancy  by  ten 
thousand  influences  to  which  the  inferior  classes  are  not 
subjected,  to  understand  the  self-delusion  of  such  a man. 

The  critical,  sceptical  spirit  is  developed  in  this  century 


ARMINF.LL. 


367 


among  the  cultured  classes  at  an  early  age,  and  the  child  of 
the  present  day  begins  with  a Dubito  not  with  a Credo. 
Where  there  is  no  conviction  there  can  be  no  enthusiasm, 
for  enthusiasm  is  the  flame  that  dances  about  the  glowing 
coals  of  belief ; and  where  no  fire  is,  there  can  be  no  flame. 
We  allow  of  any  amount  of  professions,  but  not  of  con- 
viction. Zeal  is  as  much  a mark  of  bad  breeding  as  a 
hoarse  guffaw. 

Enthusiasms  are  only  endurable  when  affectations,  to  be 
put  on  and  put  off  at  pleasure ; to  be  trifled  with,  not  to  be 
possessed  by.  This  is  an  age  of  toleration  ; we  tolerate 
everything  but  what  is  earnest,  and  we  lavish  our  adulation 
on  the  pretence,  not  the  reality  of  sincerity.  For  we  know 
that  a genuine  enthusiasm  is  unsuitable  for  social  inter- 
course ; he  who  is  carried  away  by  it  is  carried  beyond  the 
limits  of  that  toleration  which  allows  a little  of  everything, 
but  exclusiveness  to  none.  He  who  harbours  a belief  is 
not  suffered  to  obtrude  it ; if  he  be  a teetotaller  he  must 
hide  his  blue  ribbon ; if  a Home  Ruler,  must  joke  over  his 
shamrock  ; if  a Quaker,  must  dress  in  colours ; if  a Catholic, 
eat  meat  on  Good  Friday.  The  apostle  expressed  his  desire 
to  be  all  things  to  all  men ; we  have  made  universal  what 
was  then  a possibility  only  to  one,  we  are  all  things  to  all 
men,  only  sincere  neither  to  ourselves  nor  to  any  one.  We 
are  like  children’s  penny  watches  that  mark  any  hour  the 
wearers  desire,  not  chronometers  that  fix  the  time  for  all. 
How  can  we  be  chronometers  when  we  have  no  main 
springs,  or  if  we  had  them,  wilfully  break  them. 

We  regard  all  enthusiasms  as  forms  of  fever,  and  quaran- 
tine those  infected  by  them  ; we  watch  ourselves  against 
them,  we  are  uneasy  when  the  symptoms  appear  among 
our  children.  At  the  least  quickening  of  the  pulse  and 
kindling  of  the  eye  we  fly  to  our  medicine  chests  for  a 
spiritual  n ircotic  or  a sceptical  lowering  draught. 

The  new  method  of  dealing  with  fevers  is  to  plunge  the 


368 


ARMINELL. 


patients  in  cold  water,  the  reverse  of  the  old  method,  which 
was  to  bring  out  the  heat;  and  we  apply  this  improved 
system  to  our  spiritual  fevers,  to  all  these  mental  attacks 
bred  of  convictions.  We  subdue  them  with  the  douche 
and  ice,  and  the  wet  blanket.  When  the  priests  of  Baal 
invoked  their  god  on  Mount  Carmel,  they  leaped  upon  the 
altar,  and  cut  themselves  with  knives.;  but  Elijah  looked 
on  with  a supercilious  smile,  and  invited  those  who  followed 
him  to  pour  buckets  of  water  over  his  sacrifice  ; and  with 
what  pity,  what  contempt  we  regard  all  such  as  are  pos- 
sessed with  the  divine  fury,  and  are  ready  to  suffer  and 
make  themselves  ridiculous  for  their  god ; how  we  water 
our  oblations,  and  make  sure  that  the  sticks  on  our  altar 
are  green  and  incombustible  ; how,  if  a little  spark  appears, 
or  a spiral  of  smoke  arises,  we  turn  on  hydrants,  and  our 
friends  rush  to  our  aid  with  the  buckets,  and  we  do  not 
breathe  freely  till  spark  and  smoke  are  subdued. 

But  then,  because  altars  are  erected  for  burnt  sacrifices, 
and  a burnt  sacrifice  is  unsavoury,  expensive,  and  un- 
fashionable, we  thrust  a little  coloured  tin-foil  in  among  the 
wet  sticks,  and  protest  how  natural,  how  like  real  fire  it 
looks,  and  we  prostrate  ourselves  before  it  in  mock  homage. 

No  dread  of  enthusiasm,  no  shrinking  from  conviction,  is 
found  among  the  uneducated,  and  the  semi-educated. 
Among  them  enthusiasm  is  the  token  of  the  divine  affiatus, 
as  madness  is  regarded  among  savages.  They  respect  it, 
they  bring  fuel  to  feed  it,  they  allow  it  to  burst  into  extrava- 
gance, to  riot  over  reason,  and  to  consume  every  particle  of 
common  sense.  The  corrective,  judicial  faculty,  the  balance 
wheel  is  deficient ; the  strength,  not  the  quality  of  a con- 
viction gives  it  its  command  to  the  respect  and  adhesion  of 
the  many.  If  I were  to  break  out  of  Bedlam  with  the  one 
fixed  idea  in  me  that  I had  eyes  at  the  ends  of  my  ten  toes, 
wherewith  I saw  everything  that  went  on  in  the  world,  and 
with  my  big  toes  saw  what  was  to  be  in  the  future  ; and  if  I 


ARMINELL. 


369 


went  up  and  down  England  preaching  this  and  declaring 
what  T saw  with  my  toes,  and  continued  preaching  it  with 
the  fire  of  perfect  sincerity  for  a twelvemonth,  I would  shake 
the  hold  of  the  Established  Church  on  the  hearts  of  the 
people,  and  make  the  work  of  the  Liberation  Society  easy. 
Half  England  would  form  the  Church  of  the  seeing  toes, 
but  in  that  Church  I would  not  number  any  of  the  cultured. 

As  for  us,  we  get  over  our  enthusiasms  early,  as  we  cut 
our  teeth,  and  we  lose  them  as  rapidly.  Primeval  man 
wore  his  teeth  till  he  died,  so  do  savages  of  the  present 
day  ; but  the  very  milk  teeth  of  our  infants  decay.  We  are 
so  familiar  with  the  fact  that  we  assume  that  all  good  sets 
of  teeth  are  false,  that  if  we  keep  here  and  there  a fang  in 
our  jaws,  it  is  carious,  and  only  preserved  as  a peg  to  which 
to  wire  our  sham  molars  and  front  teeth.  It  is  so  unusual 
to  find  any  one  with  a real  set,  that  we  look  on  such  a 
person  with  suspicion  as  having  in  him  a stain  of  barbarous 
blood. 

It  is  obvious  that  this  defect  of  real  teeth  in  our  jaws  has 
its  advantages.  It  allows  us  to  change  our  teeth  when  we 
find  those  we  have  hitherto  worn  inconvenient  or  out  of 
fashion. 

It  is  the  same  with  our  convictions,  we  lose  them  early, 
all  the  inside  disappears,  leaving  but  the  exterior  enamel, 
and  that  breaks  away  finally. 

But  then,  we  do  not  open  our  mouths  to  our  friends  and 
in  society,  exposing  our  deficiencies.  We  replace  what  is 
lost  by  what  looks  well,  and  hold  them  in  position  by  the 
fragments  of  early  belief  that  still  project;  and  when  these 
artificial  articles  prove  irksome  we  change  them.  This  is 
how  it  is  that,  for  instance,  in  politics,  a man  may  profess 
to-day  one  thing,  and  something  quite  different  to-morrow. 
No  one  is  shocked,  every  one  understands  that  this  exhibi- 
tion to-day  is  unreal,  and  that  to-morrow  also  unreal. 

But,  together  with  the  advantage  afforded  by  this  power 

2 A 


370 


ARMINELL. 


of  altering  our  sets,  there  is  a disadvantage  which  must  not 
be  left  unnoticed,  which  is  that  the  biting  and  holding 
power  in  them  is  not  equal  to  that  possessed  by  the  natural 
articles. 

Patience  Kite  came  upon  the  captain  as  he  stood  in 
a dream,  Bible  in  hand,  but  not  reading,  meditating,  and 
looking  far  away,  yet  seeing  nothing.  She  roused  him  with 
a hand  on  his  shoulder. 

“ Do  you  know  what  they  are  about  ? ” 

“ They  ! Who  ? ” 

“All  the  parish — the  men;  the  miners  out  of  work,  the 
day-labourers,  the  tradesmen,  all.” 

Saltren  shook  his  head ; he  desired  to  be  left  alone  to  his 
thoughts,  his  prayers,  his  Bible  reading. 

“ They  are  destroying  your  house,”  said  Patience,  shaking 
him,  to  rouse  him,  as  she  would  have  shaken  a sleeper. 

“ My  house  ? Chillacot  ? ” 

“ Yes,  they  are ; they  are  breaking  up  the  rock  on  the 
Cleave,  and  throwing  it  down  on  your  roof,  and  smashing 
it  in.” 

“ My  house  ! Chillacot?  ” He  was  still  absent  in  mind. 
He  could  not  at  once  withdraw  his  thoughts  from  where 
they  had  strayed  to  matters  so  closely  concerning  himself. 

“ It  is  true  ; Tamsine  came  running  to  me  to  tell  me 
about  it.  Your  son  managed  to  get  into  the  house  and 
bring  his  mother  out,  and  Marianne  is  like  one  in  a fit,  she 
cannot  speak — that , if  you  wish  it,  is  a miracle.  The  men 
have  set  picks  and  crowbars  to  work  to  tumble  the  stones 
down  on  your  house  and  garden,  and  bury  them.  Slates 
and  windows  are  smashed  already,  and  the  shrubs  broken 
down  in  your  garden.” 

“ My  house  ! — why  ? ” 

“ Why  ? Because  you  won’t  let  the  railway  come  along 
there,  and  the  parish  is  angry,  and  thinks  the  station  will  be 
set  further  from  the  village.  The  fellows  say  you,  with  your 


ARMINELL.  37 1 

obstinacy,  are  standing  in  the  way  of  improvement,  and 
driving  trade  and  money  out  of  the  place.” 

Stephen  Saltren  looked  at  Mrs.  Kite  with  dazed  eyes. 
He  could  not  receive  all  she  said,  but  he  allowed  her  to 
lead  him  through  the  woods  in  the  direction  of  Chillacot. 
He  came  out  with  her  at  the  spot  where  he  had  stood  before 
and  looked  on  whilst  the  body  of  Lord  Lamerton  was  re- 
moved from  the  place  where  it  had  fallen. 

He  stood  there  now,  and  looked  again,  and  saw  the 
destruction  of  the  house  he  loved.  A crowd  of  men  and 
boys  were  on  the  down,  shouting,  laughing,  some  working, 
others  encouraging  them.  Those  who  had  crowbars  drove 
them  into  the  turf,  and  worked  through  to  the  rock  that 
came  up  close  to  the  surface ; then  they  levered  the  stones 
through  clefts  and  faults,  out  of  place,  and  sent  them 
plunging  over  the  edge  of  the  precipice,  accompanied  by 
clouds  of  dust,  and  avalanches  of  rubble.  As  each  piece 
went  leaping  and  rolling  down  it  was  saluted  with  a cheer, 
and  the  men  leaned  over  the  edge  of  the  cliff  to  see  where 
it  fell,  and  what  amount  of  damage  was  done  by  it. 

The  roof  of  Chillacot  was  broken  through  in  several  places; 
the  slates  at  the  top  of  the  chimney,  set  on  edge  to  divert 
the  draught  from  blowing  down  it,  were  knocked  off.  One 
huge  block  had  overleaped  the  house,  torn  a track  through 
the  flower-bed  in  front,  had  beat  down  the  entrance  gate 
and  there  halted,  seated  on  the  shattered  gate. 

Saltren  stood  looking  on  with  apparent  indifference,  be- 
cause he  was  still  unable  to  realise  what  was  being  done  ; 
but  the  full  importance  of  the  fact  that  his  home  was  being 
wrecked  came  on  him  with  a sudden  rush,  the  blood  flew 
into  his  face,  he  uttered  a shout  of  rage,  plunged  through 
the  bushes,  down  the  hill-side,  dashed  through  the  stream 
below  in  the  valley,  ran  up  to  his  cottage,  and  for  a moment 
stood  shaking  his  fist  in  inarticulate  wrath  at  the  men,  who 
looked  down  on  him,  laughing  and  jeering,  from  the  cliff. 


372 


ARMINELL. 


He  bad  forgotten  everything  now  except  what  was  before 
him,  and  his  anger  made  him  blind  and  speechless.  This 
was  his  house,  built  by  his  father ; this  his  garden,  tilled 
by  his  own  hands.  Who  had  a right  to  touch  his  pro- 
perty ? 

The  blacksmith  from  above  shouted  to  him  to  stand  off, 
another  mass  of  rock  was  dislodged  and  would  fall.  Saltren 
could  see  what  menaced.  On  the  piece  of  rock  grew  a 
thorn-tree,  and  the  thorn  was  swaying  against  the  sky  with 
the  exertions  of  the  men,  leaning  on  their  levers,  snapping 
the  ligatures  of  root-fibre,  and  opening  the  joints  in  the 
stone.  But  Saltren  had  no  fear  for  himself  in  his  fury  at 
the  outrage  being  done  him.  Regardless  of  the  warning 
cries  addressed  to  him,  he  strode  over  the  broken  gate,  and 
entered  his  partially  ruined  house. 

The  blacksmith,  alarmed,  shouted  to  the  miners  engaged 
on  the  levers  to  desist  from  their  work,  as  Saltren  was  in  the 
house  below  ; but  they  replied  that  the  stone  was  moving, 
the  crack  widening  between  it  and  the  rock,  and  that  to 
arrest  it  was  now  impossible. 

The  men  held  their  breath,  and  were  for  the  moment 
afraid  of  the  consequence  of  what  they  had  done.  But  they 
breathed  freely  a moment  later,  as  they  saw  the  captain 
emerge  from  his  house  and  cross  the  garden,  and  take  up  a 
place  out  of  the  reach  of  danger.  What  they  did  not  notice, 
or  disregarded,  was  that  he  had  brought  out  his  gun  with  him. 
Stephen  stood  where  he  could  command  those  on  the  cliff, 
and  levelled  and  cocked  his  gun.  His  strong  jaws  were 
set ; his  dark  eyebrows  drawn  over  his  flashing  eyes ; there 
was  not  a tremor  in  his  muscles.  He  watched  the  swaying 
thorn ; he  saw  that  in  another  moment  it  would  come  down 
along  with  the  mass  of  rock  on  which  it  stood,  and  which  it 
grappled  with  its  claw-like  roots. 

“ What  are  you  about,  Cap’n  ? ” asked  Mrs.  Kite,  coming 
up  hastily. 


ARMINELL.  373 

He  turned  his  head,  smiled  bitterly,  and  touched  the 
barrel  of  his  gun. 

“When  that  rock  comes  down,”  he  said,  “one  of  those 
above  shall  follow  it.” 

At  that  moment  the  block  parted  from  the  parent  rock, 
and  whirled  beneath,  followed  by  a train  of  dust.  It  struck 
the  corner  of  the  chimney,  sent  the  stones  of  which  it  was 
built  flying  in  all  directions,  and  crashed  through  the  roof, 
but  left  the  thorn-bush  athwart  the  gap  it  had  torn. 

Before  Saltren  could  discharge  his  gun,  Mrs.  Kite  struck 
it  up,  and  he  fired  it  into  the  air. 

“ You  fool ! ” she  said,  and  then  burst  into  a harsh  laugh. 
“ You  find  fault  with  others  for  doing  that  you  approve 
yourself.  You  would  undermine  Orleigh,  and  object  to 
Chillacot  being  overthrown.” 


CHAPTER  XL. 


THE  END  OF  A DELUSION. 

Captain  Saltren  remained  motionless,  with  his  gun  raised, 
is  it  had  been  struck  up  by  Patience  Kite,  for  several 
minutes ; then  he  slowly  lowered  it,  and  turned  his  face  to 
her.  The  troubled  expression  which  of  late  had  pissed 
over  it  at  intervals  returned.  The  jaw  was  no  longer  set, 
and  the  red  spots  of  anger  had  faded  from  his  cheeks.  The 
momentary  character  of  decision  his  face  had  assumed  was 
gone,  and  now  the  lips  trembled  feebly. 

“What  was  that  you  said?”  he  asked. 

Patience  laughed,  and  pointed  to  the  crag. 

“See,”  she  exclaimed,  ‘the  gun  has  frightened  the  men; 
and  there  comes  the  policeman  with  your  son  over  the 
down  ! ” She  laughed  again.  “ How  the  fellows  run  ! 
After  all,  men  are  cowards.” 

“ What  was  that  you  said  when  I was  about  to  fire  ? ” 
asked  the  captain  again. 

“ Said  ? — why,  what  is  true.  You  wanted  to  rattle  down 
his  lordship’s  house,  and  killed  him  because  he  refused  to 
allow  it  to  be  done  ; and  now  you  object  to  having  your 
own  shaken  down.  But  there,  that  is  the  way  of  men.” 

Saltren  remained  brooding  in  thought,  with  his  eyes  on 
the  ground,  and  the  end  of  the  gun  resting  where  his  eyes 
fell/ 


ARMINELL. 


375 


Mrs.  Kite  taunted  him. 

“You  kill  the  man  who  won’t  let  you  pull  down  his 
house,  and  you  would  kill  the  man  who  throws  down  yours. 
What  are  you  going  to  do  now  ? Prosecute  them  for  the 
mischief,  and  make  them  patch  up  again  what  they  have 
broken?  or  will  you  give  up  the  point,  and  let  them  have 
their  own  way,  and  the  railway  to  run  here,  with  a station  to 
Chillacot  ? ” 

He  did  not  answer.  He  was  considering  Mrs.  Kite’s  re- 
proach, not  her  question.  Presently  he  threw  the  gun 
away,  and  turned  from  his  wrecked  house. 

“It  is  true,”  he  said.  “ Our  ways  are  unequal;  it  is  very 
true.”  He  put  his  hand  over  his  face,  and  passed  it  before 
his  eyes ; his  hand  was  shaking.  “ i will  go  back  to  the 
Owl’s  Nest,”  he  said  in  a low  tone. 

“ What ! Leave  your  house  ? Do  you  not  want  to 
secure  what  has  not  been  broken?  ” 

“ I do  not  care  about  my  house.  I do  not  care  about 
anything  in  it” 

“ But  will  you  not  go  and  see  Marianne — your  wife  ? 
You  do  not  know  where  she  is,  into  what  place  your  son 
took  her,  and  whether  she  is  ill  ? ” 

He  looked  at  her  with  a mazed  expression,  almost  as  if 
he  were  out  of  his  senses,  and  said  slowly — 

“ I do  not  care  about  her  any  more.”  Then,  dimly  see- 
ing that  this  calmness  needed  justification,  he  added,  “I 
have  condemned  in  others  what  I allow  in  myself.  I have 
measured  to  one  in  this  way,  and  to  myself  in  that.” 

He  turned  away,  and  went  slowly  along  the  brook  to  the 
point  at  which  he  had  crossed  it  with  Patience  Kite  after 
the  death  of  Lord  Lamerton,  when  she  led  him  into  the 
covert  of  the  woods.  Mrs.  Kite  accompanied  him 
now. 

They  ascended  the  further  hillside  together,  passing 
through  the  coppice,  and  he  remained  silent,  mechanically 


376 


ARMINELL. 


thrusting  the  oak-boughs  apart,  lie  seemed  to  see,  to  feel 
nothing,  so  occupied  was  he  with  his  own  thoughts. 

Presently  he  came  out  on  the  open  patch  where  he  had 
stood  twice  before,  once  to  watch  the  removal  of  his  victim, 
next  to  see  the  destruction  of  his  house.  There  now  he 
halted,  and  brushed  his  arms  down,  first  the  left,  then 
the  right  with  his  hands,  then  passed  them  over  his 
shoulders  as  though  he  were  sweeping  off  him  something 
that  clung  to  and  encumbered  him. 

“They  are  all  gone,”  said  Mrs.  Kite,  pointing  to  the 
headland,  “ and  Jingles  is  bringing  the  policeman  down  to 
see  the  mischief  that  has  been  done.” 

Captain  Saltren  stood  and  looked  across  the  valley,  but 
not  at  his  house ; he  seemed  to  have  forgotten  about  it,  or 
lost  all  concern  in  it ; he  looked  away  from  it,  higher  up,  to 
the  spot  whence  Lord  Lamerton  had  fallen.  Mrs.  Kite  was 
puzzled  at  the  expression  in  his  face,  and  at  his  peculiar 
manner.  She  had  never  thought  highly  of  him,  now  she 
supposed  he  was  losing  his  head.  Every  now  and  then  he 
put  up  his  hand  over  his  mouth  to  conceal  the  contraction 
and  quivering  of  the  lips  ; and  once  she  heard  him  utter  a 
sound  which  might  have  been  a laugh,  but  was  more  like  a 
sob,  not  in  his  throat,  but  in  his  breast. 

That  dread  of  having  been  a prey  to  delusions,  which  had 
passed  over  him  before,  had  gained  consistency,  and 
burdened  him  insupportably.  Opposite  him  was  the  head- 
land whence  he  had  precipitated  Lord  Lamerton,  and  now 
he  asked  himself  why  he  had  done  it.  Because  he  believed 
his  lordship  had  hurt  him  in  his  family  relations  ? In  that 
he  was  mistaken.  Because  his  lordship  stopped  the 
mine  and  threw  him  out  of  work  rather  than  have  his 
house  imperilled  ? He  himself  was  as  resolute  in  resisting 
an  attack  on  his  own  property,  an  interference  with  his  own 
house.  Because  his  lordship  had  occasioned  the  death  of 
Arkie  Tubb  ? Now,  as  the  veils  of  prejudice  fell,  one  after 


ARMINELL. 


377 


another,  he  saw  that  no  guilt  attached  fo  his  lordship  on 
that  account.  The  boy  had  gone  in  to  save  Mrs.  Kite.  It 
was  her  fault  that  he  was  crushed.  She  had  allowed  her 
daughter,  Arkie,  all  who  looked  on  to  believe  she  was 
endangered,  when  she  had  placed  herself  in  a position  of 
security.  The  only  way  in  which  he  could  allay  the  unrest 
in  his  mind  was  to  repeat  again  and  again  to  himself,  “ It 
was  ordained.  The  Lord  revealed  it.  There  were  reasons 
which  I did  not  know.” 

There  is  a moment,  we  are  told  by  those  who  have 
ascended  in  a balloon,  when  the  cord  is  cut,  and  the  solid 
earth  is  seen  to  begin  to  drift  below,  the  trees  to  dance,  and 
the  towers  to  slide  away,  that  an  all-but  over-powering  sense 
of  fear  and  inclination  comes  on  one  to  leap  from  the  car 
at  the  risk  of  being  dashed  to  pieces.  It  is  said  that  the 
panic  produced  by  an  earthquake  exceeds  every  other  terror. 
When  a ship  is  storm-tossed,  escape  is  possible  in  a boat, 
when  a house  is  on  fire  there  are  feather-beds  into  which 
we  can  leap;  but  when  the  earth  is  insecure,  then  we  have 
nowhere  to  which  we  can  flee,  nothing  to  which  we  can 
look. 

With  Captain  Saltren,  his  religious  convictions  were 
what  was  most  stable.  Everything  else  glided  before  him 
as  a dream,  but  he  kept  his  feet  on  those  things  that  be- 
longed to  the  spiritual  world,  as  if  they  were  adamantine 
foundations.  And  now  he  was  being,  like  an  aeronaut, 
caught  away,  and  these  shifted  under  his  eyes  ; like  one  in 
an  earthquake,  he  felt  the  strong  bases  rock  beneath  him. 
The  sense  of  terror  that  passed  over  him  was  akin  to 
despair ; but  the  last  cord  was  not  snapped,  and  that  was 
the  firmest  of  all— his  visions  and  revelations. 

“ Of  all  queer  folks,”  said  Mrs.  Kite,  “ I reckon  you  are 
the  queerest,  captain.  I thought  so  from  the  time  I first 
saw  you  come  and  pray  on  you’-  raft  in  the  pond,  and  when 
I heard  what  a tale  you  had  made  out  of  Miss  Arminell 


37» 


ARMINELL. 


throwing  a book  at  you,  then  I did  begin  to  believe  you 
were  not  right  in  your  mind ; now  I’m  sure  of  it.” 

Captain  Saltren  looked  dreamily  at  her;  but  in  that 
dreamy  look  was  pain. 

“ That  was,  to  be  sure,  a wonderful  tale,”  pursued  Mrs. 
Kite,  losing  patience  with  him.  “ An  angel  from  Heaven 
cast  the  Everlasting  Gospel  down  to  y'  \ was  that  it?  ” 

He  nodded,  but  said  nothing. 

“ And  I seed  Miss  Arminell  do  it.” 

His  eyes  opened  wide  with  alarm. 

“ What  the  name  of  the  book  was,  I do  not  mind ; in- 
deed, I do  not  know,  because  I cannot  read ; but  I have 
got  the  book,  and  can  show  it  you,  and  you  who  are  a 
scholar  can  read  it  through  from  the  first  word  to  the  last.” 

“ You  have  the  book  ? ” 

“ I have ; when  it  fell  it  went  under  your  raft,  but  it  did 
not  sink,  it  came  up  after  on  the  other  side,  and  when  you 
were  gone  I fished  it  out,  and  I have  it  now.” 

“ It  was  red  as  blood.” 

“ Aye,  and  the  paint  came  off  on  my  fingers,  but  I dried 
it  in  the  sun ; and  I have  the  book  now,  not  in  the  Owl’s 
Nest,  but  in  a cupboard  of  the  back  kitchen  o’  my  old 
house.” 

“ His  likeness  was  on  it.” 

“ That  I can’t  say.  ' There  is  a head  of  a man.” 

“ The  head  of  Lord  Lamerton.” 

“ It  don’t  look  like  it ; the  man  has  black  hair  and  a 
beard,  and  his  lordship  had  no  beard,  and  his  hair  was 
light  brown.” 

A shudder  came  over  the  captain.  Was  his  last,  his 
firmest  anchor  to  break? 

Again,  as  he  had  done  several  times  already,  he  passed 
his  hands  over  his  arms  and  shoulders  and  sides,  as  if  peel- 
ing off  what  adhered  to  him. 

“ Let  me  see  the  book,”  he  said  faintly.  “ Lead  on.” 


ARMINELL. 


379 


“ I ought  to  have  returned  it  to  Miss  Arminell,”  said 
Mrs.  Kite  ; “ but  I didn't,  because  my  Tamsine  saw  it,  and 
said  she’d  like  to  read  it.  She’s  mighty  fond  of  what  they 
call  a sensational  novel. ” 

“ It  was  the  book  of  the  Everlasting  Gospel,”  said 
Saltren  with  a burst  of  desperation.  “ Nothing  will  ever 
make  me  believe  otherwise.” 

“ Or  that  Miss  Arminell,  who  stood  in  the  mouth  of  the 
Owl’s  Nest,  was  an  angel  flying?” 

He  made  no  reply,  but  lowered  his  head,  and  pushed 
forwards. 

When  they  reached  the  ruined  hovel,  Mrs.  Kite  went  into 
that  part  which  had  not  been  dismantled,  and  brought  forth 
the  crimson-covered  book  from  the  oven,  where  it  had 
been  hidden,  and  gave  it  to  her  companion. 

“It  is  ‘The  Gilded  Clique,’”  was  all  he  said,  and  fixed 
his  eyes  on  it  with  terror  in  them. 

He  dared  not  look  Mrs.  Kite  in  the  face  ; he  stood  with 
lowered  head  before  her,  and  his  hands  shook  as  he  held 
the  book,  so  that  he  could  not  study  it. 

“ Tell  me  all  that  you  heard  and  saw,”  he  said  ; then 
with  sudden  eagerness,  “ It  was  not  on  the  Sabbath  ? ” 

“Yes,”  said  Mrs.  Kite,  “it  was  on  a Sunday  that  I saw 
you.”  Then  she  told  him  all  the  circumstances  as  they  had 
really  happened. 

Wondrous  are  the  phantasmagoric  pictures  conjured  up 
by  the  sun  in  the  desert  ; the  traveller  looks  on  and  sees 
blue  water,  flying  sails,  palm  groves,  palaces,  and  all  is  so 
real  that  he  believes  he  even  hears  the  muezzin’s  call  to 
prayer  from  the  minarets,  and  the  lap  of  the  water  on  the 
sands,  and  the  chant  of  the  mariners  in  the  vessels.  Then 
up  springs  a cold  air,  and  in  a moment  the  picture  is  dis- 
solved and  exposes  arid  waste  strewn  with  bones  and 
utterly  herbless.  And  the  words  of  the  woman  produced 
some  such  an  effect  on  the  mind  of  Saltren.  In  a minute 


38° 


ARM  I NELL. 


all  the  imaginations  that  had  spun  themselves  out  of  the 
little  bare  fact,  and  overspread  and  disguised  it,  were 
riven  and  swept  aside. 

Captain  Saltren  stood  turning  the  book  about,  and  look- 
ing at  the  likeness  of  M.  Emile  Gaboriau  on  the  cover;  it 
bore  not  the  faintest  resemblance  to  the  late  Lord  Lamer- 
ton.  The  book  was  headed  “Gaboriau’s  Sensational 
Novels,  the  Favourite  Reading  of  Prince  Bismarck,  one 
shilling.”  And  beneath  the  medallion  was  “ The  Gilded 
Clique.”  Sick  at  heart,  with  giddy  head,  Captain  Saltren 
opened  the  book  stained  with  water,  and  read,  hardly  know- 
ing what  he  did,  an  advertisement  that  occupied  the  fly  leaf 
—an  advertisement  of  “Asiatic  Berordnung,”  for  the  pro- 
duction of  “ whiskers,  moustaches,  and  hair,  and  for  the 
cure  of  baldness,  and  the  renovation  of  ladies’  scanty  part- 
ings.” 

Was  this  the  revelation  which  had  been  communicated  to 
him  ? Was  it  this  which  had  drawn  him  on  into  an  ecstasy 
of  fanatical  faith,  and  led  him  to  the  commission  of  an  un- 
provoked crime  ? 

Still  half-stunned  by  his  fear  he  read  on.  “ Eminent 
authorities  have  expressed  their  entire  approval  of  the 
valuable  yet  perfectly  harmless  nature  of  our  discovery.  In 
an  age  like  this,  when  a youthful  appearance  is  so  against  a 
young  man,  those  without  beard  or  moustache  being  desig- 
nated boys,  and  scanty  hair,  eyebrows,  and  eyelashes,  so 
unproductive  of  admiration  in  the  fair  sex,  the  Asiatic 
Berordnung  should  be  universally  adopted.  Price  is.  6d. ; 
full-srzed  bottles  3s.  6d.  each.” 

Captain  Saltren’s  face  was  in  colour  like  that  of  a corpse ; 
he  raised  his  eyes  for  a moment  to  Mrs.  Kite,  and  saw  the 
mocking  laugh  on  her  lips.  He  dropped  them  again,  and 
said  in  a low  voice  ; “ Leave  me  alone,  I cannot  think  upon 
what  you  have  said  till  you  are  gone.” 

“ I will  return  to  Chillacot  and  see  the  ruin,”  she  said. 


ARMINELL. 


3^1 

“The  ruin?”  he  repeated,  “the  ruin?”  He  had  for- 
gotten about  his  house,  he  was  looking  on  a greater  ruin 
than  that,  the  desolation  of  a broken  down  faith,  and  of 
prostrate  self-confidence. 

“ Mind  you  do  not  risk  going  to  the  Owl's  Nest,”  said 
Mrs.  Kite  ; “you  are  not  in  condition  for  that,  your  knees 
scarce  support  you.  Abide  here  and  read  your  book,  and 
see  what  comfort  you  can  get  out  of  it ; a firm  head  and  a 
steady  foot  is  needed  for  that  path.” 

He  made  a sign  to  the  woman  to  go ; he  shook  as  with 
the  palsy  ; he  put  his  hand  to  his  head.  A band  as  of  iron 
was  tightening  about  his  temples.  He  could  not  endure  to 
have  Mrs.  Kite  there  any  longer.  He  would  go  mad  un- 
less left  alone. 

She  hesitated  for  a moment,  repeated  her  injunctions  to 
him  to  stay  where  he  was  till  her  return,  and  then  left. 

He  looked  after  her  till  she  had  disappeared,  and  for 
some  little  while  after  she  was  gone  he  looked  at  the  bushes 
that  had  closed  behind  her,  fearing  lest  she  should  return  : 
then  he  sank  down  on  a heap  of  stones,  put  the  book  from 
him  with  a shudder,  and  buried  his  head  in  his  hands. 

The  mirage  was  past,  the  dry  and  hideous  reality  re- 
mained, but  Saltren  had  not  as  yet  quite  recovered  from  the 
impression  of  reality  that  mirage  had  produced  on  his  mind. 
We  cannot  on  waking  from  certain  dreams  drive  them  en- 
tirely from  us,  so  that  they  in  no  way  affect  our  conduct  and 
influence  our  opinions.  I know  that  sometimes  I wake 
after  having  dreamed  of  some  amiable  and  innocent  person 
in  an  odious  light,  and  though  I fight  against  che  impression 
all  day,  I cannot  view  that  person  without  repugnance. 
Captain  Saltren  was  aware  that  he  had  dreamed,  that  he 
had  believed  in  the  reality  of  the  mirage  conjured  up  by  his 
fancy,  had  regarded  that  crimson-covered  book  as  the 
revelation  of  the  Everlasting  Gospel,  and  though  his  mind 
assented  to  the  fact  that  he  had  been  deceived,  he  was  un- 


382 


ARMINELL. 


able  to  drive  away  the  glamour  of  the  delusion  that  clung  to 
him. 

T,  who  write  this,  know  full  well  that  I shall  find  readers, 
and  encounter  critics  who  will  pronounce  the  case  of  Captain 
Saltren  impossible;  because  in  the  London  clubs  and  in 
country  houses  no  such  delusions  are  found.  What ! are 
we  not  all  engaged  in  blowing  soap-bubbles,  in  painting 
mirages,  in  spinning  cobwebs  ? But  then  our  soap-bubbles, 
our  mirages,  our  cobwebs,  in  which  we,  unlike  spiders,  en- 
tangle ourselves,  are  not  theological,  but  social  and  political 
Do  we  not  weave  out  of  our  own  bowels  vast  webs,  and 
hang  them  up  in  the  sight  of  all  as  substantial  realities? 
And  are  we  not  surprised  with  paralysing  amazement  when 
we  discover  that  the  bubbles  we  have  blown  are  not  new 
created  worlds,  and  our  cobwebs  are  dissolved  by  a touch  ? 
I have  seen  in  Innsbruck  pictures  painted  on  cobwebs  of 
close  texture,  with  infinite  dexterity  and  patient  toil.  We 
not  only  spin  our  cobwebs,  but  paint  on  them,  though  I 
allow  we  do  not  picture  on  them  sacred  images.  Why,  my 
own  path  is  strewn  with  these  gossamer  webs  of  my  own 
weaving  that  never  caught  any  other  midge  than  my  own 
insignificant  self ; me  they  entangled,  they  choked  my  wind 
pipe,  they  filled  my  eyes,  they  clogged  my  ears.  Look 
back,  critical  reader,  at  your  own  course,  and  see  if  it  be  not 
encumbered  with  such  torn  and  trampled  cobwebs.  There 
is  a great  German  book  of  nine  volumes,  each  of  over  a 
thousand  pages,  and  it  is  entitled  “ The  History  of  Human 
Folly.”  Alas,  it  is  not  complete  ! It  gives  but  the  record 
of  the  inconceivable  follies  of  a few  most  salient  characters. 
But  in  our  own  towns,  in  our  villages,  in  our  immediate 
families,  what  histories  of  human  folly  there  are  unwritten, 
but  well  known,  I go  closer  home — in  our  own  lives  there 
is  a volume  for  every  year  recording  our  delusions  and  our 
inconsequences. 

In  our  Latin  grammars  we  learned  “ Nemo  omnibus 


ARMINELL.  383 

horis  sapit,”  but  that  may  be  better  rendered,  “ Quis  non 
omnibus  horis  delirat  ? ” 

The  anthropologist  and  antiquary  delight  in  exploring  the 
kitchen  middens  of  a lost  race,  heaps  of  bones,  and  shells, 
and  broken  potsherds  rejected  by  a population  that  lived 
in  pre-historic  times.  But,  oh,  what  kitchen  middens  are 
about  our  own  selves,  at  our  own  doors,  of  empty  shells  and 
dismarrowed  bones  of  old  convictions,  old  superstitions,  old 
conceits,  old  ambitions,  old  hopes  ! Where  is  the  meat  ? 
Where  the  nutriment?  Nowhere;  gone  past  recall;  only 
the  dead  husks,  and  shells,  and  bones,  and  potsherds  re- 
main. Open  your  desk,  pull  out  the  secret  drawer,  and 
what  are  revealed  ? A dry  flower — the  refuse  scrap  of  an 
old  passion  ; a worthless  voucher  of  a bad  investment ; a 
MS.  poem  which  was  refused  by  every  magazine  ; a mother’s 
Bible,  monument  of  a dead  belief.  Go,  turn  over  your  own 
kitchen  middens,  and  then  come  and  argue  with  me  that 
such  a delusion  as  that  of  Captain  Saltren  is  impossible.  I 
tell  you  it  is  paralleled  every  year. 

And  now,  sitting  on  the  heap  of  stones,  full  of  doubt,  and 
yet  not  altogether  a prey  to  despair,  Captain  Saltren  took 
the  red  book  again,  and  began  to  read  it,  first  at  the  begin- 
ning, then  turning  to  the  middle,  then  looking  to  the  end. 
Then  he  put  it  from  him  once  more,  and,  with  the  cold 
sweat  streaming  over  his  face,  he  walked  to  the  edge  of  the 
quarry,  and  there  knelt  down  to  pray.  Had  he  been  de- 
ceived ? Was  he  not  now  subjected  to  a fiery  trial  of  his 
fai  h — a last  assault  qf  the  F.vil  One?  This  was  indeed  a 
possibility,  and  it  was  a possibility  to  which  he  clung  des- 
perately. 

A little  while  ago  we  saw  Giles  Saltren  humiliated  and 
crushed,  passing  through  the  flame  of  disappointment  and 
disenchantment,  the  purgatorial  flame  that  in  this  life  tries 
every  man.  In  that  fire  the  young  man’s  self-esteem 
and  self-reliance  had  shrivelled  up  and  been  reduced 


3^4 


ARMINELL. 


to  ash.  And  now  his  reputed  father  entered  the  same 
furnace. 

He  prayed  and  wrestled  in  spirit,  wringing  his  hands,  and 
with  sweat  and  tears  commingled  streaming  down  his  cheeks. 
He  prayed  that  he  might  be  given  a token.  He  could  not, 
he  would  not,  accept  the  humiliation.  He  fought  against 
it  with  all  the  powers  of  his  soul  and  mind. 

Then  he  stood  up.  He  was  resolved  what  to  do.  He 
would  walk  along  the  ledge  of  rock  to  the  Owl’s  Nest,  hold- 
ing the  red  book  in  his  hand  instead  of  clinging  to  the  ivy 
bands.  If  that  book  stayed  him  up  and  sustained  him  in 
equilibrium  till  he  reached  the  Cave,  then  he  would  still  be- 
lieve in  his  mission,  and  the  revelations  that  attended  it. 
But  if  he  had  erred,  why  then 

Holding  the  book  he  began  the  perilous  walk.  He  look 
three  steps  forward,  and  then  the  judgment  was  pronounced. 


CHAPTER  XL1. 


SOCIAL  SUICIDE. 

When  Giles  Saltren  had  left  town  to  return  to  Orleigh  his 
uncle  remained  with  Arminell.  The  girl  asked  Mr.  Welsh 
to  leave  her  for  half  an  hour  to  collect  her  thoughts  and 
resolve  on  what  she  would  do  ; and  he  went  off  to  the 
British  Museum  to  look  at  the  marbles  till  he  considered 
she  had  been  allowed  sufficient  time  to  decide  her  course, 
and  then  he  returned  to  the  inn.  She  was  ready  for  him, 
composed,  seated  on  the  sofa,  pale,  and  dark  under  the 
eyes. 

“ Well,  Miss  Inglett,”  said  Welsh,  “ Pve  been  studying 
the  busts  of  the  Roman  Emperors  and  'heir  wives,  and 
imagining  them  dressed  in  our  nineteenth-century  costume  ; 
and,  upon  my  word,  I believe  they  would  pass  for  ordinary 
English  men  and  women.  I believe  dress  has  much  to  do 
with  the  determination  of  character.  Conceive  of  Domi- 
tian  in  a light,  modern  summer  suit — in  that  he  could  not 
be  bloodthirsty  and  a tyrant.  Imagine  me  in  a toga,  and  you 
may  imagine  me  committing  any  monstrosity.  Dress  does 
it.  How  about  your  affairs  ? Are  you  going  to  Aunt 
Hermione  ? ” 

“ To  Lady  Hermione  Woodhead  ? ” corrected  Arminell, 
with  a touch  of  haughtiness.  “ No.” 

“Then  what  will  you  do?  I’ll  take  the  liberty  of  a 

2 B 


386 


ARMINELL. 


chair.”  He  seated  himself.  “ I can’t  get  their  busts  out 
of  my  head — however,  go  on.” 

“ Mr.  Welsh,  I wish  to  state  to  you  exactly  what  1 have 
done,  and  let  you  see  how  I am  circumstanced.  I have 
formed  my  own  opinion  as  to  what  I must  do,  and  I shall 
be  glad  afterwards  to  hear  what  you  think  of  my  determina- 
tion. You  have  shown  me  kindness  in  coming  here,  and 
offering  your  help,  and  I am  not  so  ungracious  as  to  re 
fuse  to  accept,  to  some  extent,  the  help  so  readily  offered.” 

“ I shall  be  proud,  young  lady.” 

“ Let  me  then  proceed  to  tell  you  how  stands  the  case, 
and  tnen  you  will  comprehend  why  I have  taken  my  resolu- 
tion. I ran  away  from  home  with  your  nephew,  moved  by  a 
vague  romantic  dream,  which,  when  I try  to  recall,  partly 
escapes  me,  and  appears  to  me  now  altogether  absurd.” 

“ You  were  not  dressed  for  the  part,”  threw  in  Welsh. 
“ You  could  no  more  be  the  heroine  in  modern  vest  and 
the  now  fashionable  hat,  than  I could  commit  the  crimes  of 
Caesar  in  this  suit.” 

“ In  the  first  place,”  pursued  Arminell,  disregarding  the 
interruption,  “ I was  filled  with  the  spirit  of  unrest  and  dis- 
content, which  made  me  undervalue  everything  I had,  and 
crave  for  and  over-estimate  everything  I had  not.  With, 
my  mind  ill  at  ease,  I was  ready  to  catch  at  whatever  chance 
offered  of  escape  from  the  vulgar  round  of  daily  life,  and 
plunge  into  a new,  heroic,  and  exciting  career.  The  chance 
came.  Your  nephew  believed  that  he  was  my  half-brother.” 
“ Young  Jack-an-apes  ! ” intercalated  Welsh. 

“ That  he  was  my  dear  father’s  son  by  a former  fictitious 
marriage  with  your  sister,  Mrs.  Saltren,  I believed,  as  firmly 
as  your  nephew  believed  it ; and  I was  extremely  indignant 
with  my  poor  father  for  what  I thought  was  his  dishonour- 
able conduct  in  the  matter,  and  for  the  hypocrisy  of  his 
after  life.  I thought  that,  if  I ran  away  with  your  nephew, 
I would  force  him — I mean  my  lord — to  acknowledge  the 


ARMINELL. 


387 


tie,  and  so  do  an  act  of  tardy  justice  to  his  son.  Then,  in 
the  next  place,  I was  filled  with  exalted  ideas  of  what  we 
ought  to  do  in  this  world,  that  we  were  to  be  social  knights 
errant,  rambling  about  at  our  own  free  will,  redressing 
wrongs,  and  I despised  the  sober  virtues  of  my  father,  and 
the  ordinary  social  duties,  with  the  execution  of  which  my 
step-mother  filled  up  her  life.  I thought  that  a brilliant 
career  was  open  to  your  nephew,  and  that  I might  take  a 
share  in  it,  that  we  would  make  ourselves  names,  and  effect 
great  things  for  the  social  regeneration  of  the  age.  It  was 
all  nonsense  and  moonshine.  I see  that  clearly  enough 
now.  My  wonder  is  that  I did  not  see  it  before.  But  the 
step  has  been  taken  and  cannot  be  recalled.  I have  broken 
with  my  family  and  with  my  class,  I cannot  ask  to  have 
links  rewelded  which  I wilfully  snapped,  to  be  reinstalled  in 
a place  I deliberately  vacated.  Nemesis  has  overtaken  me, 
and  even  the  gods  bow  to  Nemesis.” 

“ You  are  exaggerating,”  interrupted  Welsh  ; “ you  have, 
I admit,  acted  like  a donkey — excuse  the  expression,  no 
other  is  as  forcible  and  as  true — but  I find  no  such  irretriev- 
able mischief  done  as  you  suppose.  Fortunately  the  mis- 
take has  been  corrected  at  once.  If  you  will  go  home,  or 
to  Lady  Woodhead — ” 

“Lady  Hermione  Woodhead,”  corrected  Arminell. 

“Or  to  Lady  Hermione  Woodhead — all  will  be  well. 
What  might  have  been  a catastrophe  is  averted.” 

“No,”  answered  Arminell,  “all  will  not  be  well.  Excuse 
me  if  I flatly  contradict  you.  There  is  something  else  you 
have  not  reckoned  on,  but  which  I must  take  into  my  cal- 
culations. I shall  never  forget  what  I have  done,  never 
forgive  myself  for  having  embittered  the  last  moments  of 
my  dear  father’s  life,  never  for  having  thought  unworthily  of 
him,  and  let  him  see  that  he  had  lost  my  esteem.  If  I were 
to  return  home,  now  or  later  from  my  aunt’s  house,  I could 
not  shake  off  the  sense  of  self-reproach,  of  self-loathing 


388 


ARMINELL. 


which  I now  feel.  There  is  one  way,  and  one  way  only,  in 
which  I can  recover  my  self-respect  and  peace  of  mind.” 

“ And  that  is — ? ” 

“ By  not  going  home.” 

“Well — go  to  your  aunt's.” 

“I  should  be  there  for  a month,  and  after  that  must 
return  to  Orleigh.  No — that  is  not  possible.  Do  you  not 
see  that  several  reasons  conspire  against  my  taking  that 
course  ? ” 

“ Pray  let  me  know  them.” 

“ In  the  first  place,  it  is  certain  to  have  leaked  out  that  I 
ran  away  from  home.  My  conduct  will  be  talked  about 
and  commented  on  in  Orleigh,  in  the  county.  It  will 
become  part  of  the  scandal  published  in  the  society  papers, 
and  be  read  and  laughed  over  by  the  clerks  and  shop-girls 
who  take  in  these  papers,  whose  diet  it  is.  Everywhere,  in 
all  classes,  the  story  will  be  told  how  the  Plonourable 
Arminell  Inglett,  only  daughter  of  Giles,  tenth  Baron 
Lamerton  of  Orleigh,  and  his  first  wife,  the  Lady  Lucy 
Hele,  daughter  of  the  Earl  of  Anstey,  had  eloped  with  the 
son  of  a mining  captain,  the  tutor  to  her  half-brother,  and 
how  that  they  were  discovered  together  in  a little  inn  in 
Bloomsbury.” 

“ No,”  said  Welsh,  impatiently.  “ If  you  will  act  as 
Jingles  has  suggested,  this  will  never  be  known.  He  is 
back  at  Orleigh,  or  will  be  there  this  afternoon,  and  you  will 
be  at  Portland  Place,  where  your  maid  will  find  you.  What 
more  natural  than  that  you  should  return  to-morrow  home, 
on  account  of  your  father's  death?  As  for  the  society 
papers — if  they  get  an  inkling  of  the  real  facts — I am 
connected  with  the  press.  I can  snuff  the  light  out.  There 
are  ways  and  means.  Leave  that  to  me.” 

“ But,  Mr.  Welsh,  suppose  that  suspicion  has  been  roused 
at  Orleigh — Mrs.  Cribbage  has  to  be  considered.  That 
woman  will  not  leave  a stone  unturned  till  she  has  routed 


ARMINELL. 


389 


out  everything.  I used  to  say  that  was  why  the  finger  ends 
were  always  out  of  her  gloves.  I would  have  to  equivocate, 
and  perhaps  to  lie,  when- asked  point-blank  questions  which 
if  answered  would  betray  the  truth.  I would  be  putting  my 
dear  step-mother  to  the  same  inconvenience  and  humili- 
ation. ” 

“Trust  her  wit  and  knowledge  of  the  world  to  evade  Mrs. 
Cribbage.” 

“ But  I cannot.  I have  not  the  wit.” 

Mr.  Welsh  was  vexed,  he  stamped  impatiently. 

“ I can’t  follow  you  in  this,”  he  said. 

“Well,  Mr.  Welsh,  then  perhaps  you  may  in  what  I give 
you  as  my  next  reason.  I feel  bound  morally  to  take  the 
consequences  of  my  act.  When  a wretched  girl  flings  her- 
self over  London  Bridge,  perhaps  she  feels  a spasm  of  regret 
for  the  life  she  is  throwing  away,  as  the  water  closes  over 
her,  but  she  drowns,  all  the  same.” 

“Not  at  all,  when  there  are  boats  put  forth  to  the  rescue, 
and  hands  extended  to  haul  her  in.” 

“To  rescue  her  for  what? — To  be  brought  before  a 
magistrate,  and  to  have  her  miserable  story  published  in  the 
daily  penny  papers.  Why,  Mr.  Welsh,  her  friends  regret 
that  her  body  was  not  rolled  down  into  the  deep  sea,  or 
smothered  under  a bed  of  Thames  mud ; that  were  better 
than  the  publication  of  her  infamy.” 

“ What  will  you  have  ? ” 

“ I have  made  the  plunge ; I must  go  down.” 

“Not  if  I can  pull  you  out.” 

“You  cannot  pull  me  out.  I made  my  leap  out  of  my 
social  order.  What  I have  done  has  been  to  commit  social 
suicide.  There  is  no  recovery  for  me  save  at  a cost  which 
I refuse  to  pay.  I h ive  heard  that  those  who  have  been 
half  drowned  suffer  infinite  agonies  on  the  return  of  vitali  y 
I shrink  from  these  pains.  I know  what  it  would  be  were  I 
fished  up  and  thrown  on  my  own  shore  again.  I would 


390 


ARMINELL. 


tingle  and  smart  in  every  fibre  of  my  consciousness,  and  cry 
out  to  be  cast  in  a£ ain.  No,  Mr.  Welsh,  through  youthful 
impetuosity  and  wrongheadedness  1 have  jumped  out  of  my 
social  world,  and  I must  abide  by  the  consequences.  As 
the  Honourable  Arminell  Inglett  I have  ceased  to  exist.  I 
die  out  of  the  peerage,  die  out  of  my  order,  die  out  of  the 
recognition,  though  not  the  memory,  of  my  relatives.  But 
I live  on  as  plain  Miss  Inglett,  one  of  the  countless  members 
of  the  great  Middle  Class.” 

James  Welsh  looked  at  the  girl  with  puzzlement  in  his 
face.  Spots  of  flame  had  come  into  her  pale  cheeks,  and 
to  the  temples,  as  she  spoke,  and  she  moved  her  slender 
fingers  on  her  lap  in  her  eagerness  to  make  herself  explicit 
and  her  difficulties  intelligible. 

“ I don’t  understand  you,  Miss  Inglett.  That  is,  I do 
not  see  what  is  your  intention.” 

“ I mean  that  I have  committed  social  suicide,  and  I do 
not  wish  to  be  saved  either  for  my  friends’  sake  or  for  my 
own.  I ask  you  kindly  to  get  my  death  inserted  in  the 
Times  and  the  other  daily  papers.” 

“ Your  actual  death  ? ” 

“ A statement  that  on  such  a day  died  the  Honourable 
Arminell  Inglett,  only  daughter  of  the  late  Lord  Lamerton. 
That  will  suffice ; it  proclaims  to  society  that  I have  ceased 
to  belong  to  it.  Of  course  my  dear  step-mother  and  my 
aunt  and  the  family  solicitors  shall  know  the  truth.  I have 
money  that  comes  to  me  from  my  mother.  A statement  of 
my  death  in  the  Times  will  not  constitute  legal  death,  but 
it  will  suffice  to  establish  my  social  death.” 

“ You  are  taking  an  extraordinary  and  unwarrantable 
course.” 

“ Extraordinary  it  may  be,  but  not  unwarranted.  I have 
the  justification  within,  in  my  conscience.  When  one  has 
done  that  which  is  wrong,  one  is  called  to  suffer  for  it, 
and  the  conscience  is  never  cleansed  and  restored  without 


ARMINELL. 


391 

expiating  pains.  If  I were  to  return  to  Orleigh,  I wo^ild 
die  morally,  of  that  I am  sure,  because  it  would  be  a 
shirking  of  the  consequences  which  my  foolish  act  has 
brought  down  on  me.” 

“ There  may  be  something  in  that,”  said  Welsh. 

“I  will  write  to  Lady  Lamerton  and  tell  her  eveiything 
and  assure  her  that  my  decision  is  irrevocable.  I have 
caused  her  so  much  pain,  I have  behaved  so  badly  to  my 
father,  I have  been  so  ungrateful  for  all  the  happy  days  and 
pleasant  comforts  of  dear,  dear  Orleigh” — her  eyes  filled 
with  tears,  and  she  was  unable  to  finish  her  sentence. 

Mr.  Welsh  said  nothing. 

“ No,”  she  said,  after  a pause — “ No,  Mr.  Welsh,  I can- 
not in  conscience  go  home,  there  to  dissemble  and  lie  to 
Mrs.  Cribbage  and  to  neighbours  ; and  never  to  be  able  to 
shake  off  the  sense  of  self-repronch  for  not  having  frankly 
accepted  the  results  of  my  own  misconduct.  Do  you  know, 
Mr.  Welsh,  I was  angry  with  my  father  because  I thought 
he  was  evading  his  retribution  ? ” 

Mr.  Welsh,  usually  a talkative  man,  felt  no  inclination 
now  to  say  a word. 

“Mr.  Welsh,”  said  Arminell,  “ I ask  you  to  go  to  Port- 
land Place,  call  on  Lady  Hermione  Woodhead,  she  is  a 
practical  woman  of  the  world ; lay  the  entire  case  before 
her,  and  see  if  she  does  not  say,  ‘ Throw  her  in  again,  for 
Heaven’s  sake,  so  as  to  keep  the  story  out  of  the  papers.’  ” 

“ And  if  her  ladyship  does  not  say  so  ? ” 

“ She  will  say  it.” 

“ If  she  does  not,  but  asks  me  to  bring  you  to  her,  will 
you  go  to  Portland  Place  ? ” 

“No;  my  resolution  is  taken.” 

Welsh  stood  up  and  paced  the  room. 

“ What  the  deuce  will  you  do  ? ” he  asked.  “ You  are 
quite  a girl,  and  a pretty  girl,  and  confoundedly  inexperi- 
enced. You  cannot,  you  must  not  live  alone.  My 


392 


ARMINELL. 


Tryphoena  is  a good  soul ; it  is  true  that  we  are  without  a 
cook,  but  if  you  do  not  object  to  rissoles  I shall  be  happy 
to  offer  you  such  hospitality  as  m y house  affords.  Shep- 
herd’s Bush  is  not  the  most  aristocratic  quarter  of  the  town, 
but  Poplar  is  worse;  it  is  not  near  the  theatres  and  the 
parks,  but  you’re  welcome  to  it.  Your  idea  is  startling. 
I’ll  go  into  that  cul-de-sac , Queen’s  Square,  where  runs  no 
cab,  no  ’bus  does  rumble,  and  consider  it  there.” 

“ Will  you  see  my  aunt,  Lady  Hermione?  It  will  save 
me  writing,  and  you  can  explain  the  circumstances  by  word 
better  than  I can  tell  them  with  a pen.” 

“ Bless  me ! I have  a mind  to  do  so.”  He  stopped, 
went  to  the  window,  came  back,  and  said  abruptly,  “ Yes,  I 
will.  God  bless  me  ! To  think  that  I — I of  all  men,  a 
raging  Democrat,  should  be  hansoming  to  and  fro  between 
my  Ladies  and  Honourable's.” 

“ You  can  do  what  will  give  you  pleasure,”  said  the  girl 
with  a faint  smile — “ with  a stroke  of  the  pen  convert  the 
Honourable  Arminell  into  plain  Miss  Inglett.” 

He  did  not  laugh  at  the  sally.  He  came  in  front  of  her, 
and  stood  contemplating  her,  with  his  hands  behind  his 
back. 

“God  bless  me!”  he  said,  “one  can  be  heroic  after  all 
in  modern  costume.  I didn’t  think  it.  Well,  I will  go,  but 
write  me  a line  to  ensure  her  receiving  me  in  the  morning.” 
Arminell  did  as  required. 

When  she  had  finished  the  note  and  was  folding  it,  she 
looked  up  at  Welsh,  and  asked,  “Have  you  read  the 
Hecuba  ? ” 

“The  Hecuba?  Classic?  Not  even  in  Bohn’s  trans- 
lation.” 

“ Then  the  saying  of  Hecuba  to  Polyxenes  will  not  occur 
to  you  : ‘I  am  dead  before  my  death,  through  my  ills.’  ” 

“ I will  go,”  he  said,  and  held  out  his  hand.  “ Give  me 
a shake — it  will  do  me  good.” 


ARMINELL, 


393 


“ But,  Mr.  Welsh,  you  will  return  to  me  ? ” 

“ Yes.”  His  mouth  and  eyes  were  twitching. 

“ Deuce  take  it ! an  aristocrat  can  do  an  heroic  thing 
even  with  'a  vest  and  toupee.” 

Two  hours  later  the  journalist  returned.  x 
“ Confound  these  aristocrats,”  he  said,  as  he  entered,  hot 
and  puffing.  “They  live  in  daily,  hourly  terror  of  public 
opinion.  I wouldn’t  be  one  of  them,  existing  in  such  a 
state  of  quivering  terror,  not  for  anything  you  could  offer 
me.  They  are  like  a man  I knew  who  spent  all  his  energies 
in  fighting  against  draughts.  He  put  sandbags  to  the 
bottom  of  his  doors,  stuffed  cotton-wool  into  the  crevices  of 
his  windows,  papered  over  the  joints  of  his  flooring,  corked 
up  the  keyholes,  and  yet  was  always  catching  catarrh  from 
draughts  that  came  from — no  one  knows  where.  What 
they  fear  is  breath — the  breath  of  public  opinion.” 

“ What  did  my  aunt  say  ? ” asked  Arminell. 

“ Say  ? In  the  most  elegant  and  roundabout  way  what 
may  be  summarized  in  four  words — * Chuck  her  in  again.’  ” 
“ I said  as  much.” 

“ Come,  Miss  Inglett.  I have  telegraphed  to  Tryphcena 
to  do  two  extra  rissoles.  We  shall  pass  the  stores,  and  I’ll 
buy  a tin  of  prawns  and  a bottle  of  Noyeau  jelly.  Pack  up 
your  traps.  The  cab  is  at  the  door.  Sorry  to-day  is  Mon- 
day, or  you  should  have  had  something  better  than  rissoles.” 


CHAPTER  XLIL 


shepherd's  bush. 

4 Here  we  are,”  said  Mr.  Welsh,  “ The  Avenue— the  most 
stylish  part  of  Shepherd’s  Bush,  as  it  is  of  New  York.  You 
sit  still  in  the  fly  whilst  I go  in  and  make  an  explanation  to 
her  ladyship.  HI  take  that  bottle  of  Noyeau  you  have 
been  nursing ; I have  the  canister  of  prawns  in  my  coat- 
pocket  ; I am  sorry  before  purchasing  it  that  I forgot  to  ask 
you  if  you  preferred  Lock  Awe  salmon.  What  is  your 
favourite  tipple?  You  will  hear  from  my  wife  that  we  have 
no  cook.  The  last  we  got  became  inebriated,  and  we  had 
to  dismiss  her.  We  have  been  without  one  for  a fortnight. 
Tryphoena — that  is,  her  ladyship — upon  my  word  I have 
been  so  mixed  up  with  aristocrats  of  late,  that  I find  myself 
giving  a title  to  every  one  I meet.  What  was  I saying  ! 
Oh  ! that  her  ladyship  has  all  the  cooking  to  do  now  ? 
You  sit  quiet.  No  fumbling  after  your  purse ; I pay  the 
cabby  because  I engaged  him.  We  of  the  Upper  Ten, 
under  present  depression,  do  not  keep  our  own  carriages 
and  livery  servants — we  hire  as  we  want.” 

Under  all  Welsh's  rollicking  humour  lay  real  kindness  of 
heart.  Arminell  felt  it,  and  drew  towards  this  man,  so 
unlike  any  other  man  with  whom  she  was  acquainted,  or 
whom  she  had  met.  She  knew  that  he  was  perfectly  reli- 
ve, that  he  would  do  everything  in  his  power  to  serve  her, 


ARMINELL. 


395 


and  that  a vast  store  of  tenderness  and  consideration  lay 
veiled  under  an  affectation  of  boisterousness  and  burles- 
que. 

How  is  it  that  when  we  do  a kindness  we  endeavour  to 
minimise  it?  We  disguise  the  fact  that  what  we  do  costs 
us  something,  that  it  gives  us  trouble,  that  it  draws  down 
on  us  irksome  responsibilities  ? It  is  not  that  we  are 
ashamed  of  ourselves  for  doing  kindnesses,  that  we  think  it 
unmanly  to  be  unselfish,  but  rather  that  we  fear  to  embarrass 
the  person  who  receives  favours  at  our  hands. 

Mr.  Welsh  had  really  sacrificed  much  that  day  for 
Arminell.  He  was  to  have  met  an  editor  and  arranged 
with  him  for  articles  for  his  paper.  He  had  not  kept  his 
appointment ; that  might  possibly  be  resented,  and  lead  to 
pecuniary  loss,  to  some  one  else  being  engaged  in  his  room. 
Editors  are  unforgiving.  “ Yes,”  said  Mr.  Welsh  that  same 
afternoon,  when  he  found  that  what  he  dreaded  had  oc- 
curred, “a  Domitian  is  possible  still  in  our  costume,  but 
the  tyrants  confine  their  ferocity  to  aspirants  after  literary 
work.  They  cut  off  their  heads,  they  put  out  their  eyes, 
and  they  disjoint  their  noses,  wholesale.” 

Presently  Welsh  put  his  head  to  the  cab  door  and  said 
cheerfully,  “ All  right,  Eve  broken  it  to  her  ladyship.  She 
don’t  know  all.  You  are  a distant  and  disowned  relative  of 
the  noble  house  of  Lamerton.  That  is  what  I have  told 
her  ; and  I am  your  guardian  for  the  time.  I have  explained. 
Come  in.  The  maid-of-all-work  don’t  clean  herself  till  the 
afternoon,  and  is  now  in  hiding  behind  the  hall  door.  She 
spends  the  morning  in  accumulating  the  dirt  of  the  house 
on  her  person,  when  no  one  is  expected  to  call,  and  she 
scrubs  it  off  after  lunch.”  He  opened  the  cab  door,  and 
conducted  her  into  the  house.  “ I will  lug  the  slavey  out 
from  behind  the  door,”  he  said,  “ if  you  will  step  into  the 
dining  room  ; and  then  she  and  I will  get  the  luggage  from 
the  cab.  Your  room  is  not  yet  ready.  Go  in  there.”  He 


3 9<5 


ARMINELL. 


opened  the  door  on  his  left,  and  ushered  Arminell  into  the 
little  apartment. 

“ Excuse  me  if  I leave  you/’  he  said,  and  excuse  Mrs. 
Welsh  for  a bit.  She  is  rummaging  somewhere.  We  have, 

as  she  will  tell  you  presently,  no  cook.  The  last ” he 

made  pantomimic  signs  of  putting  a bottle  to  his  lips. 
Then  he  went  out,  and  for  a while  there  reached  Arminell 
from  the  narrow  front  passage,  somewhat  grandly  designated 
the  hall,  sounds  of  the  moving  of  her  luggage. 

A moment  later,  and  a whispered  conversation  from  out- 
side the  door  reached  her  ears. 

“ It’s  no  use — there  are  only  scraps.  How  can  you  sug- 
gest rissoles?  There  is  no  time  for  the  preparation  of 
delicacies.  If  we  are  to  have  them,  it  must  be  for  dinner. 
I did  not  expect  you  at  noon,  much  less  that  you  would  be 
bringing  a visitor.  Your  telegram  arrived  one  minute  be- 
fore yourself.” 

“ Not  so  loud,”  whispered  James  Welsh,  “ or  she  will 
hear.  You  must  provide  enough  to  eat,  of  course.  Send 
out  for  steak.” 

“ Nonsense,  James;  it  is  lunch  time  already.  She  must 
manage  with  scraps,  and  them  cold  scraps  are  wholesome. 
What  doesn’t  poison  fattens.” 

“ You  couldn’t,  I suppose,  have  the  scraps  warmed,  or  ” 
— somewhat  louder,  with  a flash  of  inspiration — “ or  con- 
verted into  a haricot  ? ” 

“ How  can  you  talk  like  this,  James  ? Go  on,  suggest 
that  they  shall  be  made  into  a mayonnaise  next.  To  have 
hot  meat  means  a fire,  and  there  is  none  to  speak  of  in  the 
kitchen.” 

“ Only  dead  scraps  ! My  dear  Tryphoena,  she  belongs  to 
a titled  family,  a long  way  off  and  disowned,  you  under- 
stand, but  still — there  is  a title  in  the  family  and — scraps  ! ” 

u What  else  will  you  have,  James  ? Had  you  been  home 
yesterday  for  dinner,  there  would  have  been  joint,  roast ; 


ARMINELL.  397 

but  as  you  were  not,  I ate  cold  meat.  Now  there  are  only 
scraps.” 

“ Perhaps  if  you  were  to  turn  out  the  Noyeau  jelly  in  a 
shape,  Tryphoena,  it  would  give  the  lunch  a more  distin- 
guished look.” 

“ Scraps  of  cold  boiled  mutton  and  Noyeau  jelly  ! No, 
that  won’t  do.  The  jelly  must  be  warmed  and  melted  into 
the  shape,  and  take  three  hours  to  cool.” 

“ I wish  I had  taken  her  to  the  Holborn  Restaurant,” 
groaned  Welsh;  “what  difficulties  encumber  domestic 
arrangements  ! ” 

“ Without  a cook — yes,”  added  his  wife. 

“ Do  go  in  and  welcome  her,”  urged  Mr.  Welsh. 

" I cannot  in  this  condition.  You  know  I have  no  cook, 
and  must  attend  to  everything.  The  girl  has  been  impu- 
dent this  morning,  and  has  given  me  notice.” 

Whilst  this  discussion  was  being  carried  on,  Arminell 
tried  not  to  listen,  but  the  whispers  were  pitched  so  high, 
and  were  so  articulate,  that  scarce  a word  escaped  her. 

Then  Mr.  Welsh  whispered,  “ Do  lower  your  voice, 
Tryphoena,”  and  the  pair  drifted  down  the  passage  to  the 
head  of  the  kitchen  steps,  and  what  was  further  discussed 
there  was  inaudible. 

Arminell  looked  round  the  room.  Its  most  prominent 
feature  was  the  gas-lamp  with  double  burner  and  globes — 
the  latter  a little  smoked,  suspended  from  the  ceiling  by  a 
telescopic  tube  that  allowed  just  sufficient  gas  to  escape  at 
the  joints  to  advertise  itself  as  gas,  not  paraffin  or  electric 
fluid.  This  room  was  the  one  in  which,  apparently,  Mrs. 
Welsh  sat  when  she  had  a cook,  and  was  not  engrossed  in 
domestic  affairs.  Her  work-box,  knitting,  a railway  novel, 
bills  paid  and  unpaid,  and  one  of  Mr.  Welsh’s  stockings 
with  a hole  in  the  heel,  showed  that  she  occupied  this  apart- 
ment occasionally. 

The  door  opened,  and  Mrs.  Welsh  entered,  followed  by 


398 


ARMINELL. 


her  husband.  She  was  a stout  lady  with  a flat  face,  and  a 
pair  of  large  dark  eyes,  her  only  beauty,  lfer  hair  was  not 
tidy,  nor  were  all  the  buttons  and  hooks  in  place  and  per- 
forming their  proper  functions  about  her  body. 

“ How  do  you  do  ? ” said  she,  extending  her  hand  ; “ I’m 
sorry  to  say  I have  no  cook ; nothing  is  more  difficult  than 
to  find  cooks  with  characters  now-a-days ; ladies  will  give 
such  false  characters.  What  I say  is,  tell  the  truth,  what- 
ever comes  of  it.  My  last  cook  had  a glowing  character 
from  the  lady  with  whom  she  lived  in  Belgrave  Square.  I 
assure  you  she  was  in  a superior  house,  quite  aristocratic — 
carriage  people ; but  I could  not  keep  her.  I did  not  my- 
self find  out  that  she  drank.  I did  not  suspect  it.  I knew 
she  was  flighty — but  at  last  she  went  up  a ladder,  sixty  feet 
high,  and  could  hardly  be  got  down  again.  It  was  in  an 
adjoining  builder’s  yard.  The  ladder  leaned  against  no- 
thing, it  pointed  to  the  sky,  and  she  went  up  it,  and  though 
a stout  and  elderly  woman,  looked  no  bigger  than  a fly  when 
she  had  reached  the  top.  Won’t  you  sit  down  ? or  stay — 
let  me  take  you  up  to  the  parlour.  We  will  have  the  table 
laid  directly  for  lunch.  Mr.  Welsh  does  not  generally  come 
home  at  this  time  of  day,  so  I was  unprepared,  and  I have 
no  cook.  The  ladder  began  to  sway  with  her,  for  she 
became  nervous  at  the  top,  and  afraid  to  come  down  ; quite 
a crowd  collected.  Do  take  off  your  things.  Your  room 
will  be  ready  presently.  In  the  meantime  you  can  lay  your 
bonnet  in  the  drawing-room.  I am  short  of  hands  now. 
The  steps  are  rather  narrow  and  steep,  but  I will  lead  the 
way.  I’ll  see  to  having  water  and  soap  and  a towel  taken 
to  the  best  bed-room  presently,  but  my  servant  is  now 
making  herself  neat.  None  of  the  police  liked  to  go  up 
the  ladder  after  my  cook.  The  united  weights  at  the  top, 
sixty  feet,  would  have  made  it  sway  like  a bulrush,  and 
perhaps  break.  This  is  the  drawing-room.  Do  make  your- 
self comfortable  in  it  and  excuse  me.  My  father  and 


ARMINELL. 


399 


mother  were  carriage  people.  There  he  is  in  his  uniform, 
between  the  windows,  taken  when  he  was  courting  my 
mother.  You  will  excuse  me,  or  the  girl  will  spread  a dirty 
instead  of  a clean  tablecloth  for  lunch.  Dear  me,  the  blinds 
have  not  been  drawn  up  ! ” 

Then  Mrs.  Welsh  departed.  All  men  and  women  trail 
shadows  behind  them  when  the  sun  shines  in  their  faces, 
but  some  women,  in  all  conditions  of  the  heavens,  drag 
behind  them  braid.  It  would  seem  as  if  they  had  their 
skirts  bound  to  come  undone.  As  in  the  classic  world 
certain  females  were  described  as  being  with  relaxed  zones, 
so  are  there  females  in  the  modern  world  in  a perpetual 
condition  of  relaxed  bindings.  If  Mrs.  Welsh  had  lived  in 
a palaeozoic  period,  when  the  beasts  that  inhabited  the  globe 
impressed  their  footprints  on  the  pliant  ooze,  what  perplexity 
her  traces  would  now  produce  among  the  palaeontologists, 
and  what  triumph  in  the  minds  of  the  anthropologists,  who 
would  conclude  that  these  were  the  footprints  of  the  homo 
caudcitus , the  missing  link  between  the  ape  and  man,  and 
point  in  evidence  to  the  furrow  accompanying  the  impres- 
sions of  the  feet ; and  Mrs.  Welsh  always  did  wear  a tail, 
but  the  tail  was  of  black  binding,  sometimes  looped,  some- 
times dragging  in  ends.  As  Arminell  followed  Mrs.  Welsh 
up  the  stairs,  she  had  to  keep  well  in  the  rear  to  avoid 
treading  on  th:s  tail. 

On  reaching  the  drawing-room,  Arminell  laid  her  bonnet 
and  cloak  on  the  sofa,  and  looked  round  the  room  as  she 
had  looked  about  that  below.  The  latter  had  been  dreary 
to  the  eyes,  the  former  had  the  superadded  dreariness  of 
pretence. 

Houses  that  are  uninhabited  are  haunted  by  ghosts,  and 
unoccupied  rooms  by  smells.  The  carpet,  the  curtains,  the 
wall-paper,  the  chintz  covers,  the  cold  fire-place,  send  fi  rth 
odours  urgent  to  attract  attention,  as  soon  as  the  door 
opens.  They  are  so  seldom  seen  that  they  will  be  smelt. 


400 


ARMINELL. 


The  drawing-room  in  the  Avenue  was  small,  with  two 
narrow  windows  to  it ; the  walls  were  papered  with  an 
aesthetic  dado  of  bulrushes  and  water  weeds,  on  a pea-green 
base  ; above  that  ran  a pattern  picked  out  with  gold,  a self- 
assertive  paper.  Above  the  marble  mantelshelf  was  a 
chimney-piece  of  looking-glasses  and  shelves,  on  which 
stood  several  pieces  of  cheap  modern  china,  mostly 
Japanese,  such  as  are  seen  outside  Glaves  in  Oxford  Street, 
in  baskets,  labelled,  “ Any  of  this  lot  for  2d.” 

Against  the  wall  opposite  the  windows  were  two  blue 
Delft  plates,  hung  by  wires.  Between  the  windows  was  the 
miniature  of  the  father  of  Mrs.  Welsh,  once  a carriage-man, 
but  not  looking  it,  wearing  the  uniform  of  a marine  officer, 
and  the  languishment  of  a lover.  He  was  represented  with 
a waxy  face,  a curl  on  his  brow,  and  either  water  or  wadding 
on  his  chest. 

Upon  the  table  were  books  radiating  from  a central  opal 
specimen  glass  that  contained  three  or  four  dry  everlastings, 
smelling  like  corduroys ; and  the  books  in  very  bright  cloth 
had  their  leaves  glued  together  with  the  gilding. 

Unhappy,  occupied  with  her  own  trouble  though  Arminell 
was,  yet  she  noted  these  things  because  they  were  so 
different  from  that  to  which  she  was  accustomed.  Perhaps 
the  rawness  of  the  decoration,  the  strain  after  impossible 
effect,  struck  Arminell  more  than  the  lack  of  taste.  She 
had  been  accustomed  to  furniture  and  domestic  decoration 
pitched  in  a key  below  that  of  the  occupants,  but  here 
everything  was  screwed  up  above  that  of  such  as  were  sup- 
posed to  use  the  room.  Elsewhere  she  had  seen  chairs  and 
sofas  to  be  sat  on,  carpets  to  be  walked  on,  books  to  be 
read,  wall  papers  to  be  covered  with  paintings.  Here  even 
the  sun  was  not  allowed  to  touch  the  carpet,  and  the  chairs 
were  to  be  made  use  of  gingerly,  and  the  fire-irons  not  to  be 
employed  at  all,  and  the  grate  most  rarely.  After  Arminell 
had  spent  half-an-hour  in  this  parlour,  the  whole  house 


ARMINELL. 


401 


reverberated  with  the  boom  of  a gong ; and  next  moment 
Mrs.  Welsh  came  in  to  say  that  lunch  was  ready.  She  had 
in  the  meantime  dressed  herself  to  do  the  honours  of  the 
meal ; had  changed  her  gown,  then  brushed  her  hair,  and 
put  on  rings.  Nevertheless  she  lacked  finish.  The  brooch 
was  not  fastened,  and  threatened  to  fall,  and  her  dress  im- 
prover had  not  been  accurately  and  symmetrically  fitted  to 
her  person. 

“Welsh,”  she  said,  “ has  departed.  He  is  very  sorry,  but 
business  calls  must  be  attended  to.  Never  mind,  I’ll  do 
what  I can  to  entertain  you.  I will  tell  you  the  end  of  the 
story  of  my  cook  up  a ladder.  Ah  ! ” she  exclaimed  on 
reaching  the  foot  of  the  stairs — “ is  that  your  umbrella 
fallen  on  the  floor?  You  stuck  it  up  against  the  wall,  no 
doubt.  The  gong  has  done  it,  shaken  it  down  with  the 
vibration.” 

The  lunch  was  plain,  but  the  good  lady  had  made  an 
effort  to  give  it  the  semblance  of  elegance.  She  had  sent 
out  for  parsley  to  garnish  the  cold  mutton,  and  for  a dish  of 
lettuce  and  another  of  watercress,  and  had  set  a just  un- 
corked bottle  of  Castle  A Claret  on  the  table  beside 
Arminell’s  plate. 

“ You’ll  excuse  if  we  help  ourselves  and  dispense  with 
the  girl,”  said  Mrs.  Welsh.  “Have  you  had  much  to  do 
with  servants  ? I have  applied  to  the  registry  offices  for  a 
cook  and  can’t  get  one ; they  object  to  Shepherd’s  Bush,  or 
else  want  to  redeem  their  characters  at  my  expense.  I 
have  applied  at  the  hospital  for  a convalescent,  but  if  I get 
one,  she  will  not  be  up  to  much  work,  and  besides  will 
have  been  so  pampered  in  hospital,  that  she  will  not 
accommodate  herself  to  our  fare,  and  will  leave  as  soon  as 
she  is  well.  If  we  were  carriage  people,  it  would  be 
different.  Servants  won’t  remain  in  a situation  where  a 
carriage  and  pair  are  not  kept.  They  think  it  immoral. 
Were  your  parents  carriage  people  ? And  did  your  mother 


ARMINELL. 


402 

have  much  trouble  with  her  servants  ? And,  if  I may  ask, 
where  did  she  go  for  her  cooks?” 

“ My  mother  died  shortly  after  my  birth,  and  my  father 
recently.”  Arminell  spoke  with  a choke  in  her  voice.  “ I 
have  not  had  time  to  get  mourning.  I must  do  some 
shopping  this  afternoon.” 

“ I can  show  you  where  you  can  get  things  very 
cheap.  You  take  a ’bus  along  Goldhawk  Road,  it  costs  but 
twopence  if  you  walk  as  far  as  Shepherd’s  Bush  Station, 
otherwise  it  comes  to  threepence.  I suppose  you  have 
kept  home  for  your  father  ? Did  you  meet  with  imperth 
nence  from  the  servants?  But  I dare  say  you  kept  your 
carriage.  If  you  don’t  do  that  they  regard  you  as  their 
equals.  They  divide  mankind  into  castes — the  lowest  keep 
no  conveyances,  the  middle  have  one-horse  traps,  and  the 
superior  and  highest  of  all  keep  a pair  and  close  carriage. 
My  parents  were  carriage  people — indeed  my  father  was  an 
officer  in  her  Majesty’s  service.  My  husband  will  some  day, 
I trust,  have  his  equipage.  His  sister  is  very  intimate  with 
people  of  distinction.  I don’t  mean  carriage  people  only, 
but  titled  persons,  the  highest  nobility.  She  was  a bosom 
friend  of  the  dowager  Lady  Lamerton,  she  told  me  so  herself. 
I almost  expect  the  Lamerton  family  to  call  on  me.  Should 
they  do  so  whilst  you  are  here,  I shall  be  happy  to  introduce 
you.  By  the  way — your  name  is  Inglett,  you  must  be  a 
distant  connexion  of  the  family.  James  said  you  were 
related  to  a noble  family,  but  that  they  did  not  receive  you. 
In  the  event  of  a call,  perhaps  you  would  prefer  to  remain 
in  the  dining-room.  My  husband’s  nephew  is  called  after 
his  lordship,  Giles  Inglett,  because  my  lord  stood  godfather 
to  him  at  the  font.  I assure  you  the  intimacy  betwe  n 
Marianne  and  the  family  is  most  cordial.  I wonder  what 
Mrs.  Tomkins  over  the  way  will  say  when  their  carriage 
stops  at  my  gate  ! What  a pity  it  is  that  the  British  nobility 
should  be  the  hot-bed  of  vice.” 


ARMINELL. 


403 


“ Is  it  ? ” asked  Arminell  listlessly. 

“ Indeed  it  is.  I know  a great  deal  about  the  aristocracy. 
My  sister-in-law  moves  in  the  highest  circles.  I read  all  the 
divorce  cases  in  high  life,  and  I have  an  intimate  friend  who 
is  much  in  great  houses — in  fact,  she  nurses  there.  Persons 
of  good  family  when  reduced  in  circumstances  become  trained 
nurses.  This  lady  has  nursed  Sir  Lionel  Trumpington,  and 
I could  tell  you  a thing  or  two  about  his  family  she  has  con- 
fided to  me — but  you  are  not  married.  She  had  the  charge 
of  chief  Justice  Bacon’s  daughter,  who  was  a dipsomaniac, 
and  so  had  the  entree  into  the  best  families,  and  has  told 
me  the  most  extraordinary  and  shocking  stories  about  them.” 

After  lunch,  Mrs.  Welsh  said,  “ There  now,  go  up  to  the 
parlour,  and  sit  there  an  hour,  till  I am  ready.  I must  see 
that  the  girl  does  your  room,  after  which  I will  put  on  my 
walking  clothes.  I will  take  you  where  you  can  get  crape, 
just  a little  crumpled  and  off  colour,  at  half  price.  We  will 
walk  to  the  railway  arch  and  so  save  a penny.” 

Arminell  sat  by  herself  in  the  drawing-room ; the  sun  was 
streaming  in,  but  Mrs.  Welsh  allowed  the  blinds  to  remain 
undrawn.  She  stood  hesitatingly  with  hand  raised  to  draw 
them,  but  went  away,  leaving  them  roiled  up,  a concession 
to  the  presence  of  a visitor. 

Arminelfs  mind  turned  from  her  own  troubles  to  the  con- 
sideration of  the  life  Mrs.  Welsh  and  those  of  her  social  grade 
led.  How  utterly  uninteresting,  commonplace,  aimless  it 
seemed ; how  made  up  of  small  pretences,  absurd  vanities, 
petty  weaknesses,  and  considerable  follies  ! A few  days  ago, 
such  a revelation  of  sordid  middle-class  triviality  would  have 
amused  her.  Now  it  did  not.  She  saw  something  beside 
all  the  littleness  and  affectation,  something  which  dignified  it. 

Everywhere  in  life  is  to  be  observed  a straining  after  what 
is  above;  and  the  wretched  drunken  cook  scrambling  up  a 
ladder  that  led  to  nothing,  blindly  exemplified  the  universal 
tendency.  As  among  the  plants  in  a garden,  and  the  trees 


404 


ARMINELL. 


of  a plantation,  there  is  manifest  an  upward  struggle,  so  is 
it  in  the  gardens  and  plantations  of  humanity.  The  servant, 
as  Mrs.  Welsh  had  said,  is  not  content  to  serve  where  no 
servant  is  kept,  and  changes  to  a situation  where  there  is  a 
pony-chaise ; then  feels  a yearning  in  her  that  fills  her  with 
unrest  till  she  has  got  into  a sphere  where  there  is  a one-horse 
brougham,  and  deserts  that  again  for  the  house  that  main- 
tains a landau  and  pair.  In  the  lower  class  an  effort  is  made 
to  emulate  the  citizens  of  the  middle  class,  in  dress  and 
arrangement  of  hair,  and  mode  of  speech ; and  in  the 
middle  class  is  apparent  protracted  effort  to  reach  the 
higher ; or  if  it  cannot  be  reached,  to  hang  on  to  it  by 
a miniature  and  a sister-in-law,  and  a trained  nurse  friend. 
Is  this  ridiculous?  Of  course  it  is  ridiculous  to  see  cooks 
scrambling  up  ladders  that  reach  nowhere,  but  it  is  infinitely 
better  that  they  should  do  this  than  throw  themselves  into 
the  gutter.  And  so  thought  Arminell  now.  Mrs.  Welsh 
may  have  been  absurd,  but  behind  all  her  nonsense  beat  a 
true  and  generous  heart,  full  of  aspiration  after  something 
better,  and  a cheerful  spirit  of  hospitality  and  self-sacrifice.- 
No.  Arminell  saw  the  struggle  in  the  woman’s  face  about 
the  blinds,  and  respected  her.  But  when  she  was  gone,  the 
girl  stood  up,  went  to  the  windows  and  drew  down  the 
b’inds,  to  save  from  fading  Mrs.  Welsh’s  new  gaudy  carpet. 


CHAPTER  XLIII. 


DOWSING. 

A few  days  later,  towards  evening,  Mr.  James  Welsh  arrived, 
after  having  been  absent  from  home.  He  had  not  told  his 
wife  or  Arminell  the  cause  of  his  departure,  nor  whither  he 
was  going.  When  he  returned,  he  informed  Arminell  that 
he  had  been  away  on  business,  and  that  he  wanted  a word 
with  her  in  the  parlour. 

“ There  is  no  gas  in  the  drawing-room.  Will  you  have  a 
lamp  ? ” asked  Mrs.  Welsh. 

“ Thank  you.  It  will  be  unnecessary.  At  this  time  of 
the  year  it  is  not  dark,  and  the  dusk  is  agreeable  for  a tete-a- 
tete.  My  business  does  not  need  reference  to  papers.” 

“ Then  I will  go  down  and  see  about  locking  up  the  re- 
mains ot  the  plum-pudding.  The  girl  has  had  her  share  set 
apart  on  a plate,  and  I object  to  her  consuming  everything 
that  goes  out  from  dinner.  There  is  enough  of  the  pudding 
left  to  serve  up  fried  to-morrow.” 

Arminell  and  Mi.  Welsh  mounted  the  steep  stairs  to  the 
sitting-room.  The  parlour  was  close  and  stuffy  \ Welsh  went 
to  the  window  and  opened  it  a little  way. 

“ Do  sit  down,  Miss  Inglett,”  he  said,  “ there,  on  the  sofa, 
with  your  back  to  the  window,  if  you  are  not  afraid  of  a 
breath  of  air.  This  twilight  is  restful  to  the  eyes  and  grate- 
ful to  the  overwrought  brain.  There  is  no  need  for  candles.” 
He  seated  himself  away  from  her,  looking  in  another 


406 


ARMINELL. 


direction,  and  said,  “ I suppose  you  can  guess  where  I have 
been  ? ” 

“ Indeed  I cannot,  Mr.  Welsh.” 

“ I have  been  at  Orleigh.  I thought  I would  like  to  be 
present  at  your  father’s  funeral.  Besides,  I belong  to  the 
press,  and  my  duties  took  me  there.  Also,  my  sister  is  left 
a widow.  You  may  not,  perhaps,  have  heard  of  the  death 
of  Captain  Saltren  ? ” 

“ Captain  Saltren  dead  ! ” 

“Yes,  drowned  in  the  old  quarry  pit.” 

“ I remember  having  once  seen  him  there.  He  was  a 
strange  man.  He  went  there  to  say  his  prayers,  and  he 
prayed  on  a kind  of  raft  of  his  own  construction.  I suppose 
it  gave  way  under  him,  or  he  overbalanced  himself.” 

“ Possibly.  How  he  fell  is  not  known.  He  was  very 
strange  in  his  manner  of  late,  so  that  the  general  opinion  is 
that  he  was  off  his  head.  He  had  visions,  or  fancied  that 
he  had.” 

Arminell  said  no  more  on  this  matter.  She  was  desirous 
of  hearing  about  her  father’s  funeral. 

“ I was  present  when  Lord  Lamerton  was  taken  to  his  last 
rest,”  said  Welsh  ; “ you  cannot  have  any  conception  what  an 
amount  of  feeling  was  elicited  by  his  death.  By  me  it  was 
unexpected.  I could  not  have  supposed  that  the  people,  as 
distinguished  from  the  aristocracy,  would  have  been  other 
than  coldly  respectful,  but  his  lordship  must  have  been 
greatly  beloved.”  Welsh  paused  and  rubbed  his  chin. 
“ Yes,*  much  loved.  Of  course,  I had  only  seen  one  side  of 
him,  and  that  was  the  side  I cared  to  see,  being  a profes- 
sional man,  and  professionally  engaged  to  see  only  one  side. 
That  is  in  the  way  of  business,  and  just  as  a timber  merchant 
measures  a tree,  and  estimates  it  by  the  amount  of  plank  it 
will  make,  regardless  of  its  effect  in  the  landscape,  so  it  is 
with  me.  I look  on  a man,  especially  a nobleman,  from  a 
commercial  point  of  view,  and  ask  how  many  feet  of  type  I 


ARMINELL. 


407 


can  get  out  of  him.  I don’t  consider  him  for  any  other 
qualities  he  may  have  than  those  which  serve  my  object. 
But  I will  admit  that  there  must  have  been  a large  amount 
of  kindness  and  sterling  worth  in  his  lordship,  or  there  would 
not  have  been  such  a demonstration  at  his  funeral,  and  that 
not  by  a party,  but  general  - not  cooked,  but  spontaneous. 
One  expected  to  see  the  quality  at  the  funeral,  but  wha 
surprised  me  was  the  real  sorrow  expressed  by  the  people. 
Why,  bless  you  ! what  do  you  think  ? Because  Captain 
Saltren  had  denounced  his  lordship,  and  prophesied  his 
death,  the  mob  rolled  stones  down  the  cliff  on  Chillacot  and 
ruined  the  house  and  spoiled  the  garden.” 

Pope  Leo  X.  was  inaccessible  except  to  buffoons,  and 
when  a priest  desired  an  interview  with  his  Holiness,  but 
was  unable  to  obtain  one  in  the  ordinary  manner,  he  dressed 
himself  in  motley,  and  as  a clown  obtained  immediate  ad- 
mission. 

There  are  some  people  who  suppose  that  every  one  else 
has  the  peculiarities  of  Leo  X.,  and  who  never  approach 
their  fellows,  even  when  they  have  to  speak  on  matters  of 
serious  import,  without  putting  on  cap  and  bells.  They  labour 
under  the  conviction  that  “ the  motley,”  as  Jaques  said  to 
the  Duke,  “ is  the  only  wear,”  especially  when  most  inappro- 
priate to  the  matter  of  discourse. 

Mr.  Welsh  was  desirous  of  doing  what  was  kind,  of  con- 
veying to  Arminell  what  he  knew  was  to  her  painful  infor- 
mation, describing  to  her  scenes  which  must  stir  her  emo- 
tions, but  he  could  not  assume  a sympathetic  and  serious 
tone.  He  was  possessed  by  that  perverse  spirit  which  forces 
a man  to  garnish  his  story,  however  tragic,  with  quirks  and 
scraps  of  illustration  incongruous  and  out  of  taste.  He  was 
at  heart  full  of  pity  for  Arminell ; he  had  not  gone  to  Orleigh 
on  journalistic  ends,  though  not  averse  to  paying  his  travelling 
expenses  by  turning  what  he  had  seen  into  type,  but  he  had 
gone  for  the  girl’s  sake,  and  only  learned  the  death  of  his 


408 


ARMINELL. 


brother-in-law  on  reaching  Orleigh.  He  knew  that  she 
hungered  for  information  which  she  could  not  receive 
through  the  channels  formerly  open  to  her.  As  he  spoke 
to  her,  his  heart  swelled,  and  he  had  some  difficulty  in  con- 
trolling his  emotion.  Nevertheless,  he  assumed  a tone  of 
half  banter,  that  galled  his  own  sense  of  propriety  as  much 
as  it  jarred  on  Arminell.  And  this  masquerade  was  assumed 
by  him  as  much  to  disguise  his  real  self  from  himself  as 
from  the  girl.  Verily,  in  our  horror  of  hypocrisy,  we  are 
arrant  hypocrites.  Essayists  and  satirists  have  united  to 
wage  a crusade  against  cant,  and  have  succeeded  so  com- 
pletely that  we  dread  the  semblance  of  piety,  kindliness, 
sweetness,  lest  they  be  taken  as  an  assumption  only.  In  the 
reaction  against  false  appearances  of  goodness  we  have  run 
into  the  opposite  extreme,  and  put  on  a false  appearance  of 
roughness,  hardness,  and  cynicism.  Lest  we  should  be 
taken  to  be  apricots,  with  sweet  outside  and  hard  interior, 
we  affect  to  be  walnuts,  rugged  and  bitter.  A woman  poses 
to  herself  in  the  glass,  and  adorns  herself  with  jewelry  to 
give  pleasure  first  to  herself  and  then  to  others  ; but  men 
cock  their  hats,  smut  their  noses,  make  grimaces  in  the 
glass,  and  having  sneered  at  their  own  buffoon  appearance, 
pass  off  the  same  pranks  on  their  acquaintance.  They  will 
neither  allow  to  themselves  nor  to  others  that  they  acknow- 
ledge a serious  interest  in  the  drama  of  life,  that  they  have 
respect  for  what  is  noble,  pity  for  what  is  suffering,  rever- 
ence for  what  is  holy.  They  affect  to  cast  burlesque  into  all 
relations  of  life,  as  salt  is  put  into  all  dishes,  to  make  them 
palatable. 

Arminell  was  not  deceived  by  the  manner  of  James 
Welsh ; under  the  affectation  of  selfishness  and  callousness 
she  recognised  the  presence  of  generous  sympathy,  just  as 
she  had  seen  the  same  quality  under  the  chatter  and  pre- 
tence of  the  wife. 

At  the  beginning  of  this  story  we  saw  Arminell  present  at 


ARMINELL. 


409 


what  we  called  the  grand  transformation  scene  in  the  panto- 
mime of  life ; now  she  had  reached  another,  and  that  a 
more  startling,  thorough-going  transformation  scene.  She 
saw  the  world  and  the  performevs  therein  differently  from 
the  way  in  which  she  had  seen  them  before,  the  world  in  a 
real  light,  the  performers  in  undress.  She  had  got  behind 
the  scenes,  and  into  the  green-room.  Delusion  was  no 
longer  possible  ; she  saw  the  framework  of  the  scenery,  the 
contrivances  for  the  production  of  effects,  and  the  actors 
oiling  their  faces  with  cotton-wool  to  remove  the  paint. 

In  former  times  there  existed  in  England  a profession 
which  has  become  extinct — the  profession  of  dowsing.  A 
dowser  was  a man  who  laid  claim  to  the  peculiar  gift  of 
discernment  of  metal  and  of  water.  He  was  employed  to 
discover  mines  and  springs.  He  took  in  his  hands  a forked 
hazel  rod,  holding  in  each  hand  one  of  the  branches. 
When  he  walked  over  a hidden  vein  of  metal,  or  a subter- 
ranean artery  of  water,  the  rod  revolved  in  his  hands,  and 
pointed  downwards,  and  wherever  it  pointed,  there  he 
ordered  the  sinking  of  a shaft  or  well. 

But,  although  dowsing  after  minerals  and  fountains  has 
ceased  to  be  practised,  we  still  have  among  us  moral 
dowsers,  and  it  is  even  possible  for  us  to  become  adepts  at 
dowsing  ourselves. 

The  old  dowsers  insisted  that  their  profession  was  not  an 
art  but  an  inherent  faculty.  The  dowser  was  born,  not 
made.  But  in  moral  dowsing  this  is  not  the  case.  The 
faculty  can  most  certainly  be  acquired,  but  only  on  one 
condition,  that  we  begin  with  dowsing  our  own  selves. 
Fiat  experimentum  in  corpore  vili . Unconsciously,  Arminell 
had  been  invested  with  this  power ; it  had  come  on  her  at 
once,  on  that  morning  when  her  folly,  her  error,  had  been 
revealed  to  her  consciousness.  From  that  memorable 
moment,  when  she  came  to  know  herself  as  she  really  was, 
not  as  she  had  fancied  herself  to  be,  the  manner  in  which 


4io 


ARMINELL. 


she  viewed  other  natures  with  which  she  was  brought  in 
contact  was  radically  changed.  She  found  herself  no  longer 
as  heretofore  occupied  with  the  outer  surface,  its  ups  and 
downs,  its  fertility  or  its  barrenness,  the  invisible  rod  turned 
in  her  hands  and  revealed  to  her  the  hidden  veins  of  ore 
and  motive  currents.  She  saw  the  silver  thread  deep  be- 
low the  most  unpromising  surface,  the  limpid  spring  under 
the  most  rugged  exterior. 

As  she  overlooked  the  superficial  flaws  in  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Welsh  because  she  recognised  their  substantial  goodness,  so 
did  she  begin  now  to  perceive  what  had  before  been  un- 
noticed in  the  characters  of  her  father  and  step-mother. 
She  had  had  eyes  previously  only  for  their  foibles  and  in- 
firmities, now  she  saw  how  full  of  sterling  qualities  both  had 
been,  of  punctual  fulfilment  of  duties,  of  conscientious  dis- 
charge of  the  obligations  imposed  on  them  by  their  position 
and  wealth,  of  hearty  good-will  for  all  with  whom  they  were 
brought  in  contact.  She  had  disregarded  her  little  half- 
brother,  the  present  Baron  Lamerton,  because  he  was  only 
a child  with  childish  thoughts,  childish  pursuits,  and  childish 
prattle  ; and  now  she  saw  that  his  was  a very  tender,  loving 
spirit,  which  it  would  have  been  worth  her  while  to  culti- 
vate. In  the  first  moment  of  disappointment,  humiliation 
and  anger,  she  had  been  incensed  against  Jingles  for  having 
assisted  her  in  perpetrating  her  great  mistake.  She  saw 
what  a fool  he  had  been,  how  conceited,  how  ungrateful, 
but  even  over  this  forbidding  soil  the  divining  rod  turned, 
and  revealed  a vein  of  noble  metal.  If  it  had  not  been 
there,  he  would  not  have  accepted  his  humiliation  with 
frankness  and  have  shown  so  decided  a moral  rebound. 

When  one  who  has  the  dowsing  faculty  is  in  the  society 
of  those  who  lack  it,  and  listens  to  their  talk,  their  dispar- 
agement cf  others,  the  captiousness  with  which  they  pick  at 
trivial  blemishes,  sneer  at  infirmities,  blame  short-comings, 
that  person  listens  with  a sort  of  wonder  at  the  blindness  of 


ARMINELL. 


411 

the  talkers,  at  their  lack  of  perception,  because  their  eyes 
never  penetrate  below  the  surface,  and  a sort  of  pity  that 
they  have  never  turned  it  inwards  and  searched  themselves, 
not  for  silver  but  for  dross. 

The  knight  Huldbrand,  when  riding  through  the  En- 
chanted Wood,  had  his  eyes  opened,  and  beneath  the  turf 
and  the  roots  of  the  trees,  he  looked  through,  as  it  were,  a 
sheet  of  green  glass,  and  saw  the  gold  and  silver  veins  in 
the  earth,  and  the  spirits  that  worked  at,  and  directed  their 
courses,  opening  sluices  here  and  stopping  currents  there. 
So  it  is  with  those  invested  with  the  dowsing,  gift — with 
them  in  the  Enchanted  Wood  of  Life. 

In  the  twilight  room  Arminell  listened  to  Mr.  Welsh’s 
story  of  the  funeral  of  her  father,  with  tears  running 
down  her  cheeks,  regardless  of  the  manner  in  which  the 
story  was  told,  in  the  intensity  of  her  interest  in  the  matter, 
and  conscious  of  the  intention  of  the  narrator. 

The  death  of  Lord  Lamerton  had  indeed  evoked  an 
amount  of  feeling  and  regret  that  showed  how  deeply  rooted 
was  the  estimation  in  which  his  good  qualities  were  held, 
and  how  unreal  was  the  agitation  that  had  been  provoked 
against  him. 

The  county  papers  of  all  political  complexions  gave  laud- 
atory notices  of  the  late  nobleman.  Every  one  who  had 
come  within  range  of  his  influence  had  good  words  to  say 
of  him,  and  lamented  his  loss  as  that  of  a relative.  Selfish 
interest  undoubtedly  mixed  with  the  general  regret.  The 
sportsmen  feared  that  the  subscription  to  the  foxhounds 
would  not  be  maintained  on  the  same  liberal  scale ; the 
parsons,  that  on  the  occurrence  of  a vacancy  in  the  Lamer- 
ton patronage,  their  claims  would  be  overlooked  by  the 
trustees;  the  medical  men  regretted  that  the  death  had 
been  too  sudden  to  advantage  them  professionally ; the 
benevolent  societies  feared  that  the  park  would  not  be 
thrown  open  to  them  with  the  same  liberality;  the  young 


412 


ARMINELL. 


ladies  that  there  would  be  no  ball  at  Orleigh  next  winter  ; 
the  topers  that  they  would  not  taste  again  the  contents  of  a 
famous  cellar ; the  tradesmen  that  money  would  not  be 
spent  in  the  little  country  town ; the  artisans  that  work 
would  be  abandoned  and  hands  discharged.  Of  course 
there  was  self-interest  in  the  minds  of  those  who  lamented 
the  loss  of  Lord  Lamerton,  regret  was  not  unmingled  with 
selfish  feeling ; but,  then,  what  motives,  what  emotions  are 
unmixed  ? The  coin  of  the  realm  is  not  pure,  it  consists  of 
metal  and  alloy;  and  the  feelings  that  pass  current  among 
men  are  not  less  adulterated.  But  are  they  the  less  estim- 
able on  that  account?  Would  they  pass  if  unmixed? 
Would  they  be  as  poignant  if  pure  ? Why,  the  very  prayers 
in  which  we  address  Heaven  have  their  stiffening  of  self- 
concern,  and  it  is  this  that  gives  them  their  force.  Are 
they  less  acceptable  above  on  that  account  ? 

Popular  feeling  was  doubly  stirred  and  sympathy  for  the 
family  greatly  deepened  by  the  news  of  the  almost  simul- 
taneous death  of  Miss  Arminell  Inglett.  The  notice  of  her 
death  had  appeared  first  in  the  Times , and  then  in  all  the 
papers  ; but  the  circumstances  were  only  imperfectly  known. 
It  was  rumoured  that  the  shock  of  the  news  of  her  father’s 
death  had  affected  her  fatally — her  heart  having  always  been 
weak — whilst  in  London,  staying  with  her  aunt.  Such  an 
account  had  appeared  in  one  of  the  society  papers,  and 
perhaps  Mr.  Welsh  could  give  the  best  explanation  of  how 
it  came  there.  This  was  reported  at  Orleigh.  Others  said 
she  had  died  at  the  second  family  place  in  Northampton- 
shire ; all  agreed  that  she  had  been  buried  there  beside  her 
mother.  Strange  rumours  had  circulated  about  Miss  Inglett, 
but  they  had  been  traced  to  Mrs.  Cribbage,  and  every  one 
knew  that  the  tongue  of  that  lady,  like  that  of  an  ox,  must 
be  taken  with  salt.  Consequently -the  rumours  died  away, 
and  were  wholly  discredited. 

And  it  was  true  that  Arminell  Inglett  was  dead.  That  is 


ARMINELL.  4lj 

to  say,  the  old  self-opinionated,  supercilious,  self-willed 
Arminell  was  no  more. 

In  spring  the  new  buds  are  sheathed  in  hard  husks.  One 
warm  morning  after  a shower  they  thrust  aside  these  horny 
sheaths,  and  the  tender  foliage  appears.  It  was  so  with 
Arminell.  She  had  hitherto  worn  her  better  part,  the 
generous  qualities  of  her  soul,  in  a hard  and  ungracious 
shell ; now  this  shell  had  fallen  off,  and  they  broke  forth, 
ready  to  expand  and  clothe  her  with  a new  and  unexpected 
beauty. 


CHAPTER  XLIV. 


FRAMING. 

Mr.  James  Welsh  did  all  that  was  requisite  for  the  arrange- 
ment of  Arminell’s  money-matters.  She  was  entitled  to  her 
mother’s  dower,  sufficient  to  maintain  her  in  easy  circum- 
stances. The  settlement  of  her  affairs  with  the  trustees, 
guardians,  and  the  solicitors  of  the  family  was  a delicate 
transaction ; Arminell  authorised  Welsh  to  act  for  her,  and 
he  managed  with  adroitness  and  tact,  without  grudging 
time  or  trouble  Meanwhile  she  remained  an  inmate  of 
his  villa  in  the  Avenue,  Shepherd's  Bush.  She  did  not 
wish  to  be  hasty  in  securing  a house  for  herself  and  engag- 
ing a companion.  She  would  not,  however,  encroach  on 
the  hospitality  of  the  Welshes,  and  she  insisted  on  becoming 
their  lodger,  paying  them  a moderate  weekly  sum  for  her 
board.  They  were  not  rich,  their  circumstances  somewhat 
strait ; it  was  an  object  with  Mrs.  Welsh  to  save  the  penny 
on  the  ’bus  by  walking  to  the  railway  arch,  and  though,  in 
their  exuberant  hospitality,  they  would  have  cheerfully  kept 
her  as  their  guest,  and  treated  her  to  the  best  they  could 
afford,  she  insisted  on  their  accepting  her  on  her  own 
terms,  not  on  theirs. 

Only  by  degrees  did  she  realise  to  the  full  extent  what  her 
social  suicide  implied.  It  was  not  possible  for  her  to 
estimate  its  cost  till  she  had  committed  the  irrevocable  act 


ARMINELL. 


415 


which  severed  her  from  the  world  to  which  she  had  be- 
longed ; as  impossible,  or  almost  as  impossible,  as  it  is  for 
the  girl  who  jumps  off  London  Bridge  to  conceive  of  the 
altered  relations  and  strangeness  of  the  region  into  which 
she  will  pass  through  the  mud  and  water  of  the  Thames. 

I know  that  nothing  surprised  me  more  as  a child  than 
being  told  that  water  was  composed  of  an  infinite  number  of 
globules  arranged  like  pebbles  in  a bag ; but  the  stream  of 
social  life,  which  looks  equally  simple  and  elemental,  is  in 
reality  made  not  only  of  the  little  component  globules  of 
individual  life,  but  of  a thousand  other  circles  enclosing 
these  globules,  all  distinct,  self-contained,  and  rotating  on 
their  own  axes  and  taking  their  own  courses.  Each  of  these 
circles  has  its  special  interests,  its  special  tittle-tattle,  its 
special  spites,  and  its  special  ambitions.  There  are  circles 
of  all  sorts,  professional,  and  social,  and  intellectual,  and 
those  who  pass  from  one  to  another  have  to  undergo  mental 
adjustment  before  they  can  understand  the  language  and 
partake  in  the  momentum  of  these  spheres.  Such  is  the 
parsonic  circle,  such  the  sporting  circle,  such  the  circle  of 
politicians,  such  the  legal  circle.  Let  a hunter  pitch  his 
rider  in  pink  over  a hedge  into  a ditchful  of  picnicing  clergy 
and  their  wives  and  daughters,  and  he  will  be  as  unable  to 
talk  with  them  as  they  to  entertain  him.  Let  Mrs.  Brown 
drop  through  the  ceiling  into  an  officers,  mess,  and  she  will 
not  have  a thought,  a taste,  a word  in  common.  Suffer  an 
archbishop  to  rise  through  a trap  into  the  green-room  of  the 
ballet  girls,  and  what  would  they  have  in  common  ? The 
gods  live  on  Olympus,  mortals  on  the  plain,  and  the  demons 
in  Tartarus,  and  all  roll  on  together  in  one  current.  Dante 
divides  heaven  into  constellations,  and  purgatory  into 
mansions — all  the  blessed  are  separated  by  leagues  of  ether, 
and  all  the  lost  by  adamantine  walls.  They  do  not  as- 
sociate, the  former  enjoy  themselves  by  themselves  in  their 
cold  planets  and  groups  of  stars,  and  the  latter  stop  in  their 


ARMINELL. 


4J  6 

several  torments  by  themselves.  Their  several  virtues  and 
several  vices  classify  them  and  separate  them  from  their 
fellows.  It  is  not  otherwise  in  this  world.  We  are  all 
boxed  off  from  each  other,  and  very  uncomfortable  when 
we  step  out  of  our  proper  box  into  another. 

Arminell  felt  keenly  the  solitude  of  her  condition,  and  it 
weighed  on  her  spirits.  It  was  not  possible  for  her  at  once 
to  accommodate  herself  to  her  new  surroundings.  She  had 
Mrs.  Welsh  to  talk,  or  rather  to  listen  to,  but  Mrs.  Welsh 
had  no  other  subjects  of  conversation  than  the  iniquities  of 
servants  and  the  scandals  in  high  life.  According  to  Mrs. 
Welsh,  there  was  but  one  social  circle  in  which  reigned 
virtue,  and  that  was  the  circle  of  the  middle  class  to  which 
she  belonged.  Servants  as  beneath  that  were  bad,  that  her 
daily  experience  taught  her,  and  the  upper  ten  thousand,  as 
she  knew  by  the  voice  of  gossip  and  the  revelations  of  the 
press,  were  also  corrupt.  It  is  conceivable  that  one  may 
tire  of  hearing  only  two  subjects  discussed,  even  though 
these  subjects  be  of  engrossing  interest ; and  Arminell  was 
fatigued  with  the  relation  of  the  misdeeds  of  domestics,  and 
the  disorders  of  the  nobility.  Shylock  said  to  Antonio  that 
he  would  talk  with  him,  buy  with  him,  sell  with  him,  but 
would  not  eat  with  him.  Arminell  could  do  everything  with 
Mrs.  Welsh  except  think  with  her.  The  girl  felt  her  friend- 
less condition.  She  had  no  companion  of  her  own  age, 
class,  and  sex,  to  whom  she  could  open  her  mind  and  of 
whom  ask  counsel.  She  could  have  no  more  communica- 
tion with  those  in  the  upper  world  to  which  she  had  be- 
longed, and  which  shared  her  intellectual  and  moral  culture, 
than  can  a fish  have  communication  with  the  bird.  It  looks 
up  and  sees  the  beautiful  creatures  skimming  the  surface  of 
its  element,  sees  their  feet  moving  in  it,  their  beaks  dipped 
below  it,  but  the  birds  do  not  belong  to  the  aqueous  element, 
nor  the  fish  to  the  atmosphere,  and  they  must  live  apart 
accordingly.  The  bird  can  pull  out  a fish  and  gobble  it, 


ARMINELL. 


417 


and  the  fish  can  bite  the  toes  of  the  swimming  duck,  and 
that  is  the  limit  of  their  association. 

I have  heard  of  the  case  of  a lady  who  was  either  ^ truck 
by  lightning  or  so  paralyzed  by  electricity  that  she  lay  as 
one  dead,  bereft  of  power  of  motion.  She  neither  breathed 
nor  did  her  pulse  beat,  she  could  not  move  a muscle  or 
articulate  a sound.  She  was  pronounced  to  be  dead,  and 
was  measured,  shrouded,  and  put  into  her  coffin.  But 
though  apparently  dead,  she  could  hear  all  that  went  on  in 
the  room,  the  blinds  being  drawn  down,  the  number  of  feet 
and  inches  determined  for  her  shell,  the  sobbing  of  her 
mother,  and  the  tramp  of  those  who  brought  in  her  coffin. 
She  heard  the  undertaker  ask  her  father  on  the  day  of  the 
funeral,  whether  he  should  at  once  screw  her  down — then, 
by  a supreme  effort,  she  succeeded  in  flickering  an  eyelid, 
and  her  father  saw  the  movement  and  sent  for  a surgeon. 

Arminell  was  dead — dead  to  her  relations,  to  her  friends, 
and  to  her  acquaintance.  They  discussed  her,  and  she  was 
unable  to  defend  herself.  They  wept  over  her,  and  she 
could  not  dry  their  tears.  She  was  incapacitated  by  her 
own  act  from  giving  a token  of  life.  She  was  separated 
from  every  one  with  whom  for  eighteen  fears  she  had  as- 
sociated, cut  off  from  every  interest  which  for  all  these  years 
had  occupied  her  mind,  severed  from  that  stream  of  intel- 
lectual life  in  which  she  had  moved. 

She  would  not  quiver  an  eye  in  entreaty  to  be  taken  out 
of  her  shell,  she  had  deliberately  gone  into  that  chest,  and 
to  it  she  must  henceforth  contract  her  interests  and  accom- 
modate her  habits.  When  we  die  we  carry  away  nothing 
with  us  of  our  treasure,  but  we  have  our  friends  and  relatives 
to  associate  with  in  the  world  of  spirits  ; Arminell,  by  her 
social  death,  had  carried  away  with  her  her  patrimony,  but  that 
was  all.  She  must  make  new  acquaintances,  and  acquire 
fresh  friends. 

If  there  be  any  truth  in  the  doctrine  of  the  transmigration 

2 D 


418 


ARMINELL. 


of  spirits,  then  the  souls  after  death  enter  into  new  exist- 
ences as  dogs,  oxen,  elephants,  cockatoos,  or  earth-worms. 
If  so — the  dog  that  fawns  on  us  with  such  speaking  eyes 
may  be  the  wife  we  still  lament ; and  when  we  cut  a worm 
in  two  with  our  spade,  we  may  be  slicing  in  half  our  little 
lost  babe  ; and  the  beef  of  the  ox  served  at  our  table  may 
have  been  worn  by  the  wandering  spirit  of  our  most  intimate 
friend. 

There  are  two  considerations  which  make  me  most  re- 
luctant to  accept  the  doctrine  of  transmigration — the  one  is 
that  when  we  leave  our  human  frames  and  enter  into  those 
of  dog  or  slug,  what  wretchedness  it  will  be  for  us  to  adapt 
our  minds  and  feelings  to  doggish  or  sluggish  limits.  And 
the  other  is  that  the  distress  must  be  insupportable  to  as- 
sociate with  those  with  whom  we  have  lived  without  the 
power  of  communicating  with  them. 

Now  Arminell  had  transmigrated  from  the  aristocratic 
order  of  beings  into  the  middle  class  order  of  beings,  and 
she  had  to  accommodate  her  mind  to  the  ways  of  this  lower 
grade  ; and  although  sitting  on  a bench  in  Hyde  Park,  she 
might  see  those  she  had  known,  talked  to,  loved,  pass  in 
Rotten  Row,  she  could  no  more  communicate  with  them 
than  can  those  who  have  migrated  into  dog,  and  cockatoo, 
and  slug,  communicate  with  us. 

In  course  of  time,  no  doubt,  she  would  find  congenial 
spirits,  get  to  know  and  love  nice  girls  in  this  new  circle  in 
which  she  found  herself,  but  that  would  take  time.  In 
course  of  time,  no  doubt,  she  would  find  her  place  in  this 
new  order  of  life,  be  caught  by  its  drift,  and  drive  forward 
with  it.  When  we  are  in  a railway  carriage  and  cast  some- 
thing from  the  window,  that  object  is  carried  on  by  the 
momentum  of  the  train,  and  does  not  drop  perpendicularly 
to  the  ground.  So  Arminell  in  falling  from  her  class  was 
still  for  a while  sensible  of  its  impulses,  but  this  would  cease 
in  time. 


ARMINELL. 


419 


There  are  cases  known  to  science,  in  which  a person  has 
fallen  into  a condition  of  mental  blank,  has  forgotten  every- 
thing acquired,  and  all  acquaintances,  and  has  to  begin  from 
the  beginning  again,  to  learn  to  know  the  relations  and  to 
acquire  speech  and  every  accomplishment.  Now  such  a 
case  was  not  that  of  Arminell,  for  she  remembered  all  her 
past,  nevertheless  she  had  in  this  new  condition  to  accept 
as  lost  a vast  amount  of  what  she  had  acquired  in  eighteen 
years,  and  begin  to  accumulate  afresh. 

Now — she  was  solitary.  It  had  not  occurred  to  her  in 
her  former  life  that  solitude  could  be  oppressive.  Then  she 
had  counted  it  as  an  escape  from  the  whirl  of  social  inter- 
course. Then  she  had  resented  advice,  and  undervalued 
sympathy  ; but  now,  when  she  was  deprived  of  these  things, 
she  felt  the  loss  of  them.  The  wife  transmigrated  into  a 
dog  may  snap  and  bark,  but  cannot  otherwise  express  her 
heartache,  and  reproach  her  husband  when  preparing  for 
his  second  wife ; nor  can  the  worm  plead  and  look  at  us 
out  of  our  child's  blue  eyes  and  tell  us  it  is  our  own  little 
one  translated,  when  we  lift  the  spade  over  it.  So  must 
Arminell  remain  silent . and  unrecognised  before  all  those 
who  had  loved  her  and  known  her  in  her  first  existence. 

The  life  she  led  in  the  Avenue,  Shepherd's  Bush,  was  so 
unlike  what  she  had  been  accustomed  to  that  it  was  not 
possible  for  her  to  fit  herself  to  it  all  at  once.  But  Arminell 
had  good  sense,  and  a brave  spirit.  She  did  not  waste  her 
energies  on  vain  repining.  She  did  not  recoil  from  and 
disparage  that  life  into  which  she  had  entered.  She  ac- 
cepted it,  as  she  had  accepted  the  revelation  of  her 
folly. 

There  is  a serviceable  Yorkshire  word,  descriptive  of  ac- 
commodation to  circumstances,  which  is  worthy  of  being 
rescued  from  a provincialism  and  of  elevation  into  general 
acceptance,  and  that  word  is — to  frame. 

A raw  country  girl  is  taken  into  a household  as  servant. 


420 


ARMINELL. 


If  she  shows  token  of  adaptability  to  the  situation,  teach- 
ableness, and  willingness,  she  is  said  to  frame. 

A clerk  settles  into  an  office,  is  quick  in  acquiring  the 
technicalities  of  the  business,  is  interested  in  his  work, 
obliging  as  to  extension  of  hours  under  pressure,  and  he  is 
said  by  his  employers  to  frame. 

A newly-married  couple,  if  they  make  allowances  for  each 
other’s  weaknesses,  are  not  self-willed  and  unyielding,  if 
ready  to  make  the  best  of  all  circumstances,  are  said  also  to 
frame. 

The  frame  is  the  situation,  and  it  may  be  of  all  kinds, 
plain  or  rich,  narrow  or  wide ; it  may  be  gilt  and  burnished, 
or  of  rude  cross-pieces  of  oak.  Into  this  frame  the  new  life, 
like  a picture,  has  to  be  fitted,  so  much  of  margin  has  to  be 
shorn  off,  or  so  much  of  mount  has  to  be  added.  The 
frame  will  not  accommodate  itself  to  the  picture,  the  picture 
must  be  adapted  to  the  frame. 

Arminell  was  in  the  process  of  framing,  and  the  frame 
was  one  of  her  own  selection.  Whether  suitable  or  not,  the 
situation  could  not  be  adapted  to  her,  she  must  adapt  her- 
self to  it ; she  must  cut  away  here,  and  piece  on  there  to  fit 
it.  The  reader  shall  be  shown  some  instances  of  the  way 
in  which  Arminell  progressed  with  her  framing. 

In  the  first  place,  the  girl  had  been  accustomed  all  her 
life  to  having  a lady's-maid  in  attendance  on  her,  and 
putting  to  rights  everything  she  left  in  disorder.  When  she 
changed  her  dress,  she  had  b^en  accustomed  to  throw  her 
clothes  about  just  where  she  had  taken  them  off ; she  had 
not  put  her  gloves  away,  tidied  her  dressing-table,  arranged 
her  dresses  in  the  drawers.  When,  at  first,  she  came  to  the 
Avenue,  she  did  as  she  had  been  wont,  and  was  unable  to 
understand  the  hints  thrown  out  by  her  hostess  that  the 
maid  had  too  much  of  household  work  to  do  to  be  able  to 
act  as  lady’s-maid  as  well.  Then  Arminell  discovered  that 
it  engaged  Mrs.  Welsh  half-an-hour  in  the  morning,  another 


ARMINELL. 


42  l 

half-hour  in  the  afternoon,  and  a third  in  the  evening,  to 
arrange  her  clothes  and  room.  And  as  she  was  aware  that 
Mrs.  Welsh  had  no  cook,  and  had  to  superintend  the  cook- 
ing herself,  this  imposed  on  her  hostess  an  extra  and 
arduous  task.  Mrs.  Welsh  expected  before  long  to  be  a 
mother,  and  to  accumulate  work  on  the  good  woman  at 
such  a time  was  unjustifiable. 

Accordingly  Arminell  began  to  put  her  room  to  rights 
herself,  learned  how  to  fold  her  gowns,  and  liked  to  arrange 
her  boots  tidily  under  the  dressing-table,  and  put  her  towels 
straight  on  the  horse,  and  the  comb  on  the  brush.  After  a 
week  she  found  that  the  trouble  she  gave  herself  was  very 
slight,  and  that  it  afforded  her  real  pleasure  to  be  her  own 
lady's-maid. 

That  was  one  item  in  the  framing. 

Mrs.  Welsh  had  not  much  plate.  Arminell  was  not 
particular  about  what  she  ate,  but  she  was  accustomed  to 
silver  and  glass,  kept  very  bright,  and  to  unchipped  and 
pretty  china.  The  plate  of  the  Welsh  establishment  was 
electro-plate,  and  the  plating  was  somewhat  abraded.  The 
forks  and  spoons  were  scratched,  not  polished.  If  an  egg 
had  been  eaten  at  breakfast,  it  was  not  impossible  to  identify 
at  dinner  the  spoon  that  had  been  used  for  the  egg.  Even 
Castle  E claret  was  not  attractive  when  the  bowl  of  the 
wine-glass  bore  on  it  the  impress  of  a thumb. 

One  day  Arminell  said  to  Mrs.  Welsh,  a I am  sure  that 
the  girl  is  overworked.  Shall  I give  a final  burnish  to  the 
silver  and  glass  before  they  come  on  table  ? ” and  Mrs. 
Welsh  had  joyfully  assented.  So  Arminell  began  to  take  a 
pride  and  find  a pleasure  in  being  butler  in  the  house  of 
Welsh. 

That  was  another  item  in  the  framing. 

One  day  Mrs.  Welsh  threw  out  mysterious  hints  about 
the  anticipated  addition  to  the  family,  and  lamented  that, 
owing  to  her  being  without  a cook,  she  had  been  unable  to 


422 


ARMINELL. 


provide  the  many  articles  of  clothing  which  a new-comer 
into  the  world  expects  and  exacts,  to  wit : — six  long  night- 
dresses, half-a-dozen  flannels,  six  shirts,  the  same  number  of 
little  socks,  bibs  to  the  number  of  one  dozen,  besides  other 
articles  which  for  brevity  we  will  include  under  an  &c. 
What  would  little  Welsh  do  without  his  trousseau  ? 

Then  Arminell  went  out  and  bought  linen  and  flannel, 
and  horrocks,  and  began  to  cut  out  and  sew,  and  mark,  and 
then  hold  up  the  little  garments  and  laugh  and  dance  round 
them,  and  find  a pleasure  and  pride  in  being  a sempstress. 

That  was  another  item  in  the  framing. 

In  a couple  of  weeks,  Mrs.  Welsh  was  unable  to  further 
superintend  the  cooking.  The  heat  of  the  kitchen  made 
her  faint,  and  the  girl,  when  left  to  her  own  devices,  devised 
startling  effects,  quite  Wagnerian,  Doreish. 

Then  Arminell  began  diligently  to  study  “ Mrs.  Warne’s 
Cookery  Book,”  and  descend  to  the  subareal  world  and 
direct  the  proportions  of  condiments,  the  rolling  of  pastry, 
the  mincing  of  veal,  and  the  stuffing  of  geese.  Mrs.  Welsh 
had  had  a limited  culinary  horizon — beef  olives,  rissoles, 
haricot,  were  the  changes  on  joint,  and  the  puddings  were 
ground  rice  mould,  “ shape  ” Mrs.  Welsh  called  it,  rice  milk 
and  apple-tart.  Arminell  extended  the  range,  and  was 
pleased  to  surprise  and  delight  Mr.  Welsh  when  he  re- 
turned fagged  in  the  evening,  with  a dinner  that  was  a 
pleasure  to  eat.  In  a word  she  found  a gratification  and 
pride  in  being  cook. 

That  was  another  item  in  the  framing. 

Later,  a little  Welsh  appeared  on  the  scene,  and  the 
monthly  nurse  appeared  simultaneously.  It  really  seemed 
as  if  Mrs.  Welsh  had  been  brought  to  bed  of  two  babies, 
for  the  nurse  was  as  helpless  as  the  infant.  She  could,  or 
would,  neither  dust  the  patient’s  room,  nor  lay  a fire,  nor 
put  a match  to  the  fire  when  laid  for  her.  She  was  incap- 
able of  carrying  upstairs  a cup  of  tea  or  bowl  of  gruel.  It 


ARMINELL. 


423 


was  hard  to  say  which  of  the  two  babes  was  the  most 
incapable,  exacting,  fractious,  and  insatiable.  The  maid-of- 
all-work  lost  what  little  head  she  had,  and  her  temper  went 
along  with  her  head.  When,  finally,  it  became  clear  that 
the  corpulent,  middle-aged  baby  drank  something  stronger 
than  milk,  Arminell  asked  to  have  her  dismissed,  and 
undertook  to  attend  to  Mrs.  Welsh  and  the  baby  for  the  re- 
maining fortnight. 

Thus  Arminell  fell  into  the  position  of  a nurse. 

That  was  another  item  in  the  framing. 

But  there  were  other  adjustments  went  to  the  framing. 
ArraineH’s  superciliousness,  her  pride  of  intellect,  her  self- 
will,  required  much  paring  down.  Formerly  she  had 
treated  what  was  common-place  and  humdrum  with  con- 
tempt as  beneath  the  regard  of  one  gifted  with  intelligence. 
Now  she  began  to  acknowledge  that  it  was  in  the  fulfilment 
of  humdrum  duties,  and  in  the  accomplishment  of  com- 
mon-place obligations  that  the  dignity  and  heroism  of  life 
lay. 

Arminell  had  been  accustomed  to  criticise  severely  those 
with  whom  she  associated,  and  to  laugh  at  their  weaknesses  ; 
and  now  she  had  learned  her  own  weakness,  the  disposition 
to  laugh  at  others  had  departed  from  her,  and  was  replaced 
by  great  forbearance. 

She  began  to  wonder  whether  the  regeneration  of  society 
was  to  be  effected  by  revolutionary  methods,  and  was  not 
best  accomplished  by  the  slow  processes  of  leavening  with 
human  charity. 

How  often  had  she  supposed  that  happiness  was  im- 
possible apart  from  the  amenities  of  life,  that  in  the  middle 
class,  with  its  imperfect  culture  and  narrow  aims,  there 
could  be  no  true  felicity ; that  in  the  lowest  classes,  where 
there  was  no  refinement  of  taste,  no  polish  of  mind,  no 
discipline  of  intellect,  life  must  be  insupportable  in  its 
wretchedness.  But  now  she  saw  that  happiness  was  of 


424 


ARMINELL. 


general  distribution  and  was  not  to  be  arrogated  as  a prero- 
gative of  one  class  alone,  that,  indeed,  it  seemed  to  lose  its 
freshness,  its  gaiety  in  proportion  as  knowledge  increased 
and  culture  advanced.  The  two  Welshes  were  happy ; 
James  happy  in  his  work  of  furious  onslaught  against 
aristocracy,  Tryphoena  happy  in  the  little  sphere  of  house- 
hold duties,  and  supremely  happy  in  giving  food  to  her 
baby.  Not  only  so,  but  the  slave,  the  maid-of-all-work,  was 
happy  down  the  area,  and  sang  over  her  drudgery. 

Then  Arminell  recalled  the  game  she  had  played  as  a 
child  with  her  companions  in  a circle,  holding  a string  with 
a gold  ring  threaded  on  it.  One  child  stood  in  the  centre, 
and  tried  to  discover  who  had  the  ring,  and  the  ring  passed 
about  the  living  hoop,  and  there  was  no  hand  under  which 
the  ring  might  not  be  found.  It  was  the  same  with  the 
round  game  of  life.  The  gold  ring  of  happiness  was  not 
retained  by  those  in  gay  clothing,  nor  to  be  found  only 
under  the  taper  fingers  and  in  the  delicate  palms,  as  often 
it  slipped  under  the  broad  flat  hands  of  those  in  washing 
calico  gowns,  and  quite  as  often  was  retained  by  the 
laughing  rogues  in  rags,  whose  rough  hands  were  begrimed 
with  dirt. 

Consequently  Arminell’s  ideas  on  this  point,  as  on  many 
another,  underwent  radical  change.  This  also  went  to- 
wards the  framing.  ArmineH’s  manner  changed.  Her 
impatience  was  replaced  by  gentleness  and  consideration 
for  others.  Instead  of  her  thoughts  radiating  from  and 
reverting  to  self,  they  played  about  others,  to  the  forgetful- 
ness of  self. 

An  underlying  sadness  never  deserted  her,  but  never  in- 
truded on  notice.  She  constrained  herself  to  be  cheerful, 
and  its  presence  was  only  revealed  by  great  sweetness  of 
disposition.  She  took  interest  in  what  interested  others, 
and  did  not  force  on  others  interest  in  her  own  concerns. 

There  are  frames  ready  made  for  all  of  us.  It  falls  to 


ARMINELL. 


425 


the  lot  of  an  exceptional  few  to  have  frames  made  to  ft 
them.  Some  of  us  make  frames  for  ourselves,  and  as  v\e 
always  over-estimate  our  size  such  frames  are  never  suitable. 
As  we  cannot  expand  or  contract  our  frames  to  our  liking, 
we  must  do  the  other  thing,  stretch  and  shape  our  pictures 
to  them.  I have  seen  coloured  sketches  on  an  elastic 
material  capable  of  being  extended  indefinitely.  Well  for 
us  if  our  life’s  picture  be  painted  on  such  accommodating 
material 


CHAPTER  XLV. 


FAREWELL. 

The  house  at  Chillacot  had  been  temporarily  repaired,  and 
made  habitable,  so  that  Jingles  and  his  mother  could 
occupy  it ; but  the  young  man  shortly  after  the  death  of  his 
reputed  father  entered  into  negotiations  with  the  railway 
company  for  the  sale  of  the  place.  His  mother  was  shaken 
by  what  had  occurred.  She  had  been  threatened  with  paralysis, 
and  her  speech  affected  for  a few  days  ; but  she  speedily 
recovered  activity  of  tongue.  There  was  now  nothing  in 
Orleigh  to  retain  the  Saltrens.  The  mother  had  never 
liked  the  dismal  house,  it  was  not  grand  enough  to  meet 
her  ideas,  for  was  she  not  the  sister  of  a gentleman  of  the 
press,  a man  who  was  certain,  according  to  her  account,  to 
contest  that  division  of  the  county  in  the  Radical  interest 
at  the  next  election?  She  resolved  to  settle  in  London. 
There  she  would  be  able  to  assume  more  conseauence  than 
where  she  and  her  antecedents  were  well  known  But  Mrs. 
Saltren  laid  down  to  her  son  that  it  was  not  to  any  part  of 
London  she  would  go.  She  must  have  a house  in  the  West 
End — her  brother,  she  said,  lived  in  the  West  End.  There 
was  no  qualifying  S.  before  or  C.  after  the  W.  on  his 
address.  Those  persons  who  lived  in  S.  W.  or  W.  C.  ?night 
be  gentlemen,  those  who  lived  in  division  W.  were  gentle- 
men. As  certain  estates  in  Austria  ennoble  their  pur- 


ARlwlNELL. 


427 

chasers,  so  did  living  in  the  W.  quarter  of  town  elevate  , 
socially.  At  Orleigh  Mrs.  Saltren  could  not  aspire  to 
occupy  such  a position  as  that  which  her  fancy  pictured 
herself  as  adorning  in  town.  There  she  could  figure  as  the 
widow  of  a captain  ; at  Orleigh  it  was  known  too  well  that 
the  captaincy  of  her  husband  had  been  over  a gang  of 
miners. 

The  sale  of  Chillacot  would  enable  her  to  spend  more 
money  than  was  usually  at  her  command,  and  she  talked 
grandly  of  having  a carriage  and  a button-boy.  At  Orleigh 
she  could  not  speak  as  freely  of  her  acquaintance  with  the 
Lamerton  family  as  she  could  elsewhere,  for  at  Orleigh  it  was 
known  that  her  situation  at  the  Park  had  been  a menial  one. 
The  railway  company  paid  liberally  for  Chillacot,  but  not 
so  liberally  as  Mrs.  Saltren  figured  to  herself,  nor  was  the 
capital  thus  acquired  likely  to  cover  all  the  expenditure 
which  she  flattered  herself  she  would  be  able  to  launch  forth 
into. 

Marianne  Saltren  had  exercised  sufficient  discretion  to 
hold  her  tongue  about  her  husband’s  concern  in  the  death 
of  Lord  Lamerton,  but  she  was  sufficiently  aware  of  her 
own  frailty  to  doubt  whether  she  could  retain  the  secret  for 
ever  among  confidential  friends,  and  she  knew  that  to  trust 
an  intimate  friend  with  a secret  was  the  way  to  publish  it  to 
the  world.  Anxiety  lest  she  should  be  betrayed  into  com- 
municating what  had  better  remain  unknown  acted  strongly 
upon  her  to  make  her  desire  to  leave  Orleigh  speedily. 

The  young  man,  moreover,  had  no  wish  to  stay  in  a place 
which  was  associated  in  his  mind  with  too  many  painful 
and  humiliating  recollections.  It  would  not  be  possible  for 
him  there  to  escape  meeting  Lady  Lamerton  and  little 
Giles,  and  such  encounters  must  be  productive  of  distress 
to  her  ladyship  and  embarrassment  to  himself. 

At  Orleigh,  moreover,  there  were  no  means  of  his  earning 
for  himself  a livelihood.  His  mother  was  welcome,  in  his 


428 


ARMINELL. 


eyes,  to  spend  the  money  derived  from  the  sale,  money  to 
which  he  had,  he  felt,  a legal  but  no  moral  right.  The 
captain  was  not  his  father,  therefore  he  did  not  consider 
himself  entitled  to  what  he  left. 

The  desire  to  make  his  way  in  literature  had  deserted 
him  under  the  rebuff  received  from  Mr.  Welsh,  and  his  self- 
confidence  had  not  recovered  the  blow  it  had  been  given  to 
make  him  feel  himself  qualified  to  act  as  political  teacher  of 
men. 

He  resolved  on  taking  a clerkship  in  an  office.  His  pride 
was  gone.  So  long  as  he  could  earn  enough  to  support 
himself  and  his  mother,  he  did  not  care  in  what  sort  of 
business  he  made  the  money,  so  long  as  it  was  fairly  and 
honourably  earned. 

As  the  day  approached  on  which  it  was  arranged  that  he 
and  his  mother  should  leave  Chillacot,  Saltren’s  heart  sank ; 
but  not  so  that  of  his  mother.  She  became  more  talkative 
and  more  boastful.  Only  since  he  had  discovered  how 
false  she  had  been  in  the  story  of  his  parentage,  had  his 
eyes  been  open  to  her  unreliability.  Hitherto  he  had 
looked  up  to  her  with  respect.  He  had  never  felt  much 
tenderness  towards  old  Saltren,  and  his  mother  by  her  com- 
plaints had  bred  in  him  antagonism  towards  his  father  as  if 
he  were  a man  who  misunderstood  his  mother  and  failed  to 
show  her  the  love  and  regard  she  deserved.  There  are 
heads  like  those  of  thistles,  that  are  full  of  feather-light, 
mischievous  thoughts,  which  are  blown  about  the  country 
and  in  proper  soil  germinate  and  produce  a crop  of  weeds. 
Such  was  the  head  of  Marianne  Saltren,  but  Jingles  was 
sufficiently  humbled  to  acknowledge  that  unless  his  own 
heart  had  proved  suitable  soil,  rich  in  self-conceit,  these 
thistle-down  fancies  would  not  have  rooted. 

Mrs.  Saltren’s  acquaintances  called  to  say  farewell,  and 
before  them  her  boasting  was  so  ridiculous  that  it  covered 
her  son  with  shame.  He  knew  what  the  circumstances  of 


ARMINELL.  429 

James  Welsh  were,  and  what  the  position  was  that  he  oc- 
cupied in  town. 

Young  Saltren  hesitated  for  some  days  how  to  act  to- 
wards Lady  Lamerton.  Should  he  call  and  bid  her  fare- 
well, or  should  he  forbear?  To  both  a meeting  must  be 
painful.  If  he  considered  his  natural  shrinking  from  an 
unpleasant  scene,  he  would  desist  from  paying  her  his  re- 
spects ; but  his  conscience  told  him  that  to  depart  without 
an  apology  and  a word  of  explanation  would  be  ungenerous. 

Accordingly,  on  his  last  day  at  Chillacot,  he  walked  over 
to  the  Park,  and  asked  to  see  her  ladyship.  Lady  Lamerton 
was  engaged  at  the  moment  with  some  ladies  who  had  called 
to  pay  their  condolence,  so  at  his  request  he  was  shown  into 
the  library ; and  the  butler  undertook  to  inform  her  ladyship 
that  he  was  there,  as  soon  as  she  was  free  from  her  visitors. 

As  he  sat  in  the  familiar  room,  he  mused  on  what  he 
had  to  say.  The  situation  was  peculiar,  as  it  was  difficult. 
Lady  Lamerton  knew  nothing,  he  supposed,  and  need  know 
nothing,  about  the  mistake  he  had  made  concerning  his 
parentage.  He  could  not  tell  her  the  story  which  he  and 
Arminell  had  believed,  and  on  which  they  had  acted,  yet 
without  this  key  to  their  conduct  it  was  hardly  possible  to 
explain  it — to  justify  it  even  with  the  key  was  impossible. 

As  Jingles  sat  in  the  study  meditating,  the  door  opened 
slightly,  and  little  Giles’s  face  appeared  at  it.  The  moment 
he  saw  his  old  tutor  he  uttered  an  exclamation  of  delight, 
and  ran  to  him.  “ Mr.  Saltren,  why  have  you  left  me  ? ” he 
asked ; “ my  dear  papa  is  dead,  and  I am  so  unhappy. 
Why  do  you  not  come  back  to  us  ? and  Arminell  is  dead 
also.  I have  no  one  here  but  mamma.  I love  mamma, 
but  I want  you  also.” 

Jingles  took  the  little  boy  on  his  knee.  The  child  had  a 
delicate,  intelligent  face. 

“ Did  you  hear  that  I had  arrived  ? ” asked  Saltren. 

“No;  I looked  into  the  library  because — I really  can 


43° 


ARMINELL. 


hardly  say  why.  Since  I have  lost  papa,  I go  all  about  the 
house ; I know  I cannot  find  him,  but  I cannot  help  running 
into  one  room  and  then  another  seeking  him.  I heard  the 
study  door  open,  and  that  was  papa's  room,  and  I thought — 
that  is — I didn’t  think — I wondered  who  could  be  in  papa’s 
room.  I was  fond  of  coming  here  and  sitting  on  his  lap 
and  hearing  about  his  rides  and  his  spills  when  foxhunting. 
Whenever  I hear  a door  open  or  a step  on  the  stairs,  I think 
papa  is  coming,  and  then  next  moment  I know  it  cannot  be 
so.  Why  do  you  not  come  back  ? I am  doing  no  lessons 
now,  and  am  tired  of  holiday.” 

“ You  are  going  to  school  shortly,  Giles.” 

“ Yes,  I know,  but  not  till  the  term  begins.  Nurse  says 
that  I am  my  lord  now,  and  that  mamma  will  call  me 
Lamerton  instead  of  Giles.  But  I don’t  like  it.  I don’t 
wish  to  take  anything  that  was  papa’s.  I always  persuade 
myself  he  will  come  back.  Did  they  tell  you  that  I saw  a 
black  coach  come  to  the  door  and  carry  away  papa?  The 
black  coach  never  came  for  Arminell.  When  I saw  that, 
papa  would  not  let  me  tell  mamma  lest  it  should  frighten 
her.  Why  was  not  Arminell  buried  in  the  vault  ? ” 

“ Have  you  had  any  of  your  bad  dreams  lately?  ” 

“ No,  sir,  but  two  nights  ago  I thought  that  papa  came 
to  my  crib  side  and  kissed  me.  I did  not  see,  but  I felt 
him ; and  he  put  his  hand  on  my  head  and  stroked  my 
hair,  exactly  the  same  way  he  did  that  night  when  I had 
my  bad  dreams  and  saw  the  black  coach  and  screamed.  I 
know  papa’s  kiss  even  when  I do  not  hear  him  speak,  and 
also  the  touch  of  his  hand,  which  is  not  heavy,  but  very 
light.  I told  nurse  about  it  in  the  night,  after  he  was  gone, 
but  she  said  it  was  all  stuff  and  nonsense,  and  I must  go  to 
sleep.  There  comes  mamma.” 

The  boy  jumped  off  his  tutor’s  knee  and  stood  aside. 
He  had  been  brought  up  to  old-fashioned  courtesy,  and 
never  remained  seated  when  his  mother  entered  the  room. 


ARMINELL. 


431 


Lady  Lamerton  bowed  stiffly  to  Jingles.  She  was  dressed 
in  the  deepest  mourning,  and  looked  pale  and  delicate.  At 
a sign  from  her  the  little  fellow  withdrew.  She  indicated 
a chair,  but  Saltren,  who  had  risen,  did  not  reseat  himself. 
She  did  not  speak,  but  waited  for  what  he  had  to  say,  and 
she  remained  standing. 

“ My  lady,”  said  the  young  man,  “ my  conscience  would 
not  suffer  me  to  depart,  probably  never  again  to  revisit 
Orleigh,  without  coming  here  to  express  to  you  in  few  words 
what  I feel  in  every  fibre  of  my  heart.  I know  how  much 
I owe  you,  my  lady, — to  your  forbearance  and  kindness 
towards  a ” — he  hesitated  a moment,  and  then  said  the  word 
firmly — “ towards  a Prig.  I have  not  the  words  at  my  com- 
mand in  which  even  to  allude  to  the  debt  I owe  to  one 
who 

She  bowed  her  head,  she  understood  to  whom  he  referred. 
His  voice  refused  to  proceed  with  the  sentence. 

“ I have  come,  my  lady,  in  the  first  place  to  tell  you  that 
never,  while  life  lasts,  will  I forget  what  I owe  to  you  and 
to  his  lordship.” 

“ It  is  a pity  ” — she  began,  and  then  checked  herself ; but 
a faint  colour  came  into  her  lips,  a flush  of  anger  at  the 
recollection  of  how  he  had  repaid  the  kindness  shown  him. 

Jingles  waited  for  her  to  finish  the  sentence,  but  as  she 
did  not  do  so,  he  said,  “ It  is  a pity  I did  not  remember  this 
earlier.  Yes,  that  I now  admit,  to  my  indelible  shame.  I 
acted  most  ungratefully.  I do  not  know,  my  lady,  what 
Miss  Inglett  has  told  you,  and  therefore  I am  placed  in  a 
difficulty.” 

“ She  has  told  me  everything,”  answered  Lady  Lamerton, 
“ at  least  so  I suppose.  Here  is  her  letter  to  me,  which  you 
are  at  liberty  to  peruse,  and  you  will  see  by  it  if  there  is 
anything  kept  back  which  ought  to  be  told,  or  which  you 
wish  to  tell  me.” 

She  extended  a note  to  him,  and  he  took  it,  and  ran  his 


43* 


ARMJNELL. 


eye  through  it.  It  was  written  in  Arminell’s  firm  hand,  and 
it  told  everything,  in  her  plain,  decisive,  and  direct  manner 
— she  hid  nothing,  she  excused  nothing. 

He  returned  the  letter  to  Lady  Lamerton. 

“ There  is  but  one  thing  for  me  to  add — or  rather,”  said 
he,  “ one  correction  for  me  to  make.  Miss  Inglett  takes 
the  blame  on  herself.  It  should  rest  mainly  on  my  shoul- 
ders. Without  my  offer  of  help  she  never  would  have  left 
this  house.  I have  no  word  of  self-excuse.  No  one  can 
reproach  me  more  severely  than  I reproach  myself.  In  no 
eyes  can  I figure  more  despicably  than  in  my  own.  That 
is  all  I have  to  say — to  assure  you  of  my  gratitude  and  my 
regret.  I thank  you,  Lady  Lamerton,  that  you  have  per- 
mitted me  to  see  you  and  say  this.” 

“ Mr.  Saltren,”  said  she,  “ I will  not  disguise  the  fact  that 
you — you  and  my  step-daughter  between  you — have  occa- 
sioned me  more  grief  than  has  even  the  death  of  my  dear 
lord.  But  I am  not  justified  in  refusing  to  accept  your  ex- 
pression of  sorrow,  though  perhaps  it  is  too  early  yet,  and 
the  wound  too  fresh,  for  me  to  be  able  heartily  to  forgive 
you  both.  I acknowledge  that  you  acted  for  the  best  when 
you  discovered  your  error,  in  returning  promptly  to  Chilla- 
cot,  so  as  to  silence  the  voice  of  scandal.  Whether  Armi- 
nell  was  wise  in  acting  as  she  did  admits  of  difference  of 
opinion.  For  her  decision  you  are  not  responsible.  She 
tells  me  what  you  proposed — to  telegraph  for  her  maid  to 
be  sent  to  Portland  Place,  and  that  the  maid  should  find 
her  at  her  aunt’s  and  accompany  her  home.  If  that  plan 
had  been  executed,  only  ourselves  would  have  known  the 
secret  history  of  that  London  escapade.  But  she  elected 
otherwise.  She  would  punish  herself  for  having  thought 
unworthily  of  her  dear  father,  and  for  having  embittered  his 
last  hour  of  life.  It  is  possible,  indeed  it  is  probable,  that 
it  was  the  distress  and  alarm  which  he  felt,  as  he  took  that 
fatal  walk,  that  blinded  him  as  to  his  course,  so  that  he  fell 


ARMINELL. 


433 


over  the  cliff.  I dare  say  Arminell  has  judged  right  in 
resolving  to  suffer.  I do  not  blame  her.  There  is  some- 
thing honourable  in  her  resolve  to  abide  the  consequences 
of  her  own  foolish  act.  She  has  also  spared  me  the  diffi- 
culty of  meeting  her  under  the  circumstances,  and  control- 
ling and  disguising  my  feelings  towards  her.  If  we  had 
met  immediately,  I hardly  know  how  I could  have  behaved 
with  composure  and  charity  towards  her.  I never,  never 
could  have  loved  her  as  I have  loved  her  heretofore  ; for  I 
could  not  have  forgotten  the  dishonour  she  had  done  in 

thought  to  the  purest  life,  the  noblest  soul ” Then  her 

ladyship  broke  down. 

After  a minute  she  recovered  herself,  and  proceeded, 
“ She  has  foreseen  this,  and  has  resolved  to  relieve  me  of 
the  restraint,  to  spare  me  the  trial.  I thank  her  for  that. 
I confess,  Mr.  Saltren,  that  when  I heard  you  were  here  my 
first  impulse  was  to  decline  an  interview.  But  on  second 
thoughts  I resolved  to  accord  you  a meeting.  It  is  as  well 
that  no  one  should  suspect  the  wrong  you  have  done  ; and 
it  is  right  that  I should  accept  your  expression  of  penitence, 
for  we  daily  ask  of  Heaven  to  forgive  us  our  trespasses  as 
we  forgive  such  as  have  trespassed  against  us.”  She  paused. 

Saltren’s  heart  was  too  full  for  him  to  speak. 

Silence  ensued  for  a minute  or  two.  Each  stood,  each 
with  lowered  eyes,  and  with  a struggle  raging  in  each  for 
control  over  the  stirred  emotions. 

“ I will  say  good-bye,”  said  her  ladyship,  “ no  doubt  for 
ever.  After  what  has  passed  it  is  as  well  that  we  should 
never  meet  again.  I am  glad  that  you  have  called.  I am 
glad  that  I have  received  you.  I shall  think  of  you  hence- 
forth more  kindly,  in  the  light  of  one  who,  having  done 
wrong,  devotes  the  rest  of  his  life  to  striving  to  do  his  duty. 
Mr.  Saltren,  our  feelings  must  not  be  allowed  to  guide  us, 
but  principle.” 

Giles  Inglett  Saltren  walked  home  much  depressed,  and 

2 E 


434 


ARMINELL. 


yet  content  that  he  had  seen  Lady  Lamerton  ; depressed 
because  he  had  seen  her  and  Giles  for  the  last  time,  and 
content  because  he  had  done  right  in  seeking  the  interview. 

He  felt  now  that  he  had  thrown  away  an  opportunity  of 
in  some  little  way  repaying  Lady  Lamerton  for  the  kindness 
shown  him.  But  for  his  mistake  he  might  at  this  time  have 
rendered  her  valuable  aid,  such  as,  in  a time  of  confusion 
consequent  on  the  fall  of  the  main  pillar  of  a house,  must 
always  occur.  He  might  have  been  of  use  to  her  in  a 
thousand  little  ways,  knowing  as  he  did  the  ramifications  of 
life  in  the  great  house ; of  use  also  now  with  the  boy  in 
giving  bent  to  his  fresh  and  pliable  character. 

A remarkable  difference  is  found  to  exist  between  the 
stages  of  development  in  the  physical  and  moral  natures. 
The  insect  passes  through  three  degrees,  the  larva,  the 
pupa,  and  imago,  the  last  phase  being  the  noblest,  and  the 
middle  the  most  torpid  of  the  three  conditions.  With  man 
and  woman  physically  it  is  different.  The  childhood  in- 
deed corresponds  to  the  grub  stage,  but  this  is  immediately 
followed  by  the  butterfly  condition,  and  that  of  cessation  of 
energies  and  deterioration  of  beauty  follows  as  the  third 
period.  In  psychical  development,  however,  man  follows 
the  same  course  as  the  insect.  After  the  first  voracious 
acquisitive  period  of  growth,  comes  the  pupa  condition, 
when  the  human  conscience,  glutted  with  as  much  know- 
ledge and  experience  as  it  deems  sufficient,  encases  itself  in 
a chrysalis  of  conceit,  and  falls  asleep  in  self-sufficiency. 
Then,  after  a period  of  comatosity,  comes  a shock  of  awak- 
ening life,  the  breath  of  a new  spirit  passes  over  the  earth, 
the  sun  smites  with  provocative  ray,  and  the  sleeping  soul 
stretches  itself,  and  suddenly  finds  its  case  too  strait  for  it. 
Then  that  horny  hide  of  self-conceit  is  riven  from  top  to 
bottom,  and  falls  away,  and  at  length  the  true,  the  perfect 
spiritual  character  comes  forth,  flutters  its  wings  for  a 
moment,  gains  fresh  courage  and  expands  them.  It  is  in- 


ARMINELL. 


435 


deed  true  that  some  insects  never  escape  out  of  their  chry- 
salis, and  some  birds  stifle  in  their  shells  through  lack  of 
force  to  rive  the  encasing  bound.  And  it  is  also  true  that 
there  are  men  and  women  who  to  the  last  remain  hide- 
bound in  their  self-esteem ; and  the  moral  sense,  the 
spiritual  force,  the  power  of  development  becomes  extinct 
in  them. 

In  our  gardens  the  spade  occasionally  brings  up  these 
dead  pupae  in  their  horny  coffins  ; and  we  are  continually 
coming  across  human  beings  in  society,  in  like  manner 
enchrysalised  in  conceit,  in  which  they  remain  eternally 
encoffined. 

It  must  not  be  supposed  that  the  transition  condition  is 
without  its  throes  and  effort.  On  the  contrary,  the  advance 
to  the  better,  the  perfect  life  is  only  possible  through  effort, 
and  the  effort  is  stimulated  by  the  sense  of  oppression, 
through  realisation  of  the  straitness  of  the  shell. 

Hard  had  been  the  case  that  enclosed  Jingles,  but  the 
Giles  Inglett  Saltren  we  now  see  had  completely  emanci- 
pated himself  from  it. 

When  he  opened  the  door  of  Chillacot,  his  mother  said — 
“ Giles,  I have  secured  a servant.  I have  promised  Tamsine 
Kite  a place  in  my  establishment  as  lady’s-maid.  She  will 
attend  me  to  town.” 

“ But,  mother ” 

“ My  deai;,  it  is  settled ; and  see,  here  is  Captain  Tubb.” 

“ Captain  Tubb  ! ” 

“ Yes,  he  has  come  to  pay  me  his  respects  before  I leave, 
and  to  congratulate  me  on  the  disposal  of  Chillacot  for  so 
handsome  a sum,  and  to  inquire  what  I propose  doing  with 
the  money — and  even  to  suggest  a desirable  investment  for 

it.” 


CHAPTER  XLVI. 


ON  FLOWER-POTS. 

Saltren  moved  with  his  mother  to  London,  and  went  with 
her  into  lodgings.  Mrs.  Saltren  had  insisted  on  taking 
Thomasine  with  her,  and  incurred  accordingly  the  ad- 
ditional expense  of  maintaining  her  where  she  was  not 
wanted.  Thomasine  was  not  likely  to  be  of  use  till  the 
Saltrens  got  a house  of  their  own,  and  Giles  did  not  choose 
to  take  one  till  he  had  got  into  a situation  and  was  able  to 
see  what  his  prospects  w ere  likely  to  be.  As  lady’s-maid  to 
Mrs.  Saltren,  Thomasine  was,  of  course,  no  good  at  all,  or 
likely,  to  employ  that  serviceable  Yorkshire  word  again,  “ to 
frame  ” as  one. 

“ Whatever  you  do,”  said  Mrs.  Saltren,  “ mind  that  we 
live  in  the  West,  End.  Why  don’t  you  go  to  Shepherd’s 
Bush,  near  the  Welshes?  A man  of  my  brother’s  political 
and  literary  position  must  have  hosts  of  distinguished 
acquaintances,  and  a woman  of  Tryphoena’s  accomplish- 
ments and  beauty  must  have  the  ent?ee  into  the  highest 
circles.  If  we  lived  near  them  we  might  get  good  intro- 
ductions. If  we  don’t  get  settled  to  my  liking  shortly  in  a 
fashionable  quarter  of  town,  I do  not  know  but  that  I may 
return  to  Orleigh.” 

“ Return  to  Orleigh  !”  echoed  the  son,  “why,  mother,  I 
thought  that  your  desire  had  been  to  leave  it.  Besides,  we 
have  not  a house  there  any  more.” 


ARMINELL.  437 

u I know  we  have  not,”  answered  his  mother,  “ but  what 
we  may  be  without,  it  is  possible  that  I might  secure.” 

“ I do  not  understand,”  said  Jingles. 

“ I think,”  said  Mrs.  Saltren,  “ that  it  is  proper  the 
money  paid  by  the  railway  company  for  Chillacot  should  be 
put  into  the  bank  in  my  name  and  not  in  yours.” 

“1  have  already  told  you,  mother,”  said  Giles,  “that  I 
will  not  touch  it  myself.  I consider  it  yours,  not  mine.” 
“But  I have  riot  the  disposal  of  it.” 

“ Indeed,  mother,  you  have;  it  is  entered  in  your  name, 
not  in  mine,  already.  I have  no  account  at  the  bank  at 
all.” 

“ How  can  you  talk  nonsense,”  said  Mrs.  Saltren  ; “ you 
have  all  your  savings — quite  a fort  me — -which  you  got  at 
the  Park  whilst  tutor  to  young  Giles.” 

“ My  dear  mother,  I had  not  the  time  to  accumulate  a 
fortune.  I was  tutor  there  for  eighteen  months,  and  what  I 
saved  was  a hundred  and  twenty-five  pounds,  and  that  sum 
is  already  disposed  of.” 

“ Disposed  of ! what  have  you  done  with  it  ? ” 

“ I have  purchased  an  annuity  for  some  one.” 

“ For  whom  ? for  me  ? ” 

“No,  mother,  not  for  you.  You  have  the  purchase 
money  of  Chillacot.” 

“ For  whom  then  ? I insist  on  knowing.” 

“ For  a man  who  has  been  crippled,  and  is  unable  to  earn 
his  livelihood.” 

“What  nonsense ! What  absurd  fit  of  heroic  charity  has 
come  over  you  ? Since  you  went  to  town  in  that  strange, 
hurried  fashion  at  the  time  of  your  father’s  death,  you  have 
been  altered  from  what  you  were  before,  as  different  as 
canister  beef  from  that  which  is  fresh  from  the  ox.” 

Giles  said  nothing  in  self-defence. 

“ But  I insist  on  knowing  on  whom  you  have  thrown  this 
money  away.” 


43* 


ARMINELL. 


“ I do  not  wish  to  tell — on  a man  who  has  the  nearest  of 
claims  on  me.” 

Mrs.  Saltren  considered,  then  coloured,  looked  mortified, 
and  did  not  prosecute  her  inquiries.  “ Well,”  she  said 
petulantly,  “ a fool  and  his  money  are  soon  parted.  I am 
very  glad  I insisted  on  having  the  Chillacot  purchase  money 
removed  from  your  fingering.  Please  to  ring  for  my  lady's- 
maid.” 

“ Lady's-maid,  mother?” 

u For  Thomasine.  I want  to  speak  to  her.  You  may 
leave  the  room.  Here  we  have  been  in  town  a week  and 
the  Welshes  have  not  called.  If  we  are  to  be  more  solitary 
here  than  we  were  at  Chillacot,  I shall  go  back  to  Orleigh. 
Ring  for  my  lady's-maid.” 

Mrs.  Saltren  was,  indeed,  becoming  tired  of  London. 
Her  opportunities  for  boasting  were  confined  to  talks  with 
her  landlady  and  her  landlady’s  visitors. 

It  did  her  soul  good,  said  the  woman  of  the  lodgings,  to 
hear  of  lords  and  ladies  ; it  was  as  comforting  and  improving 
as  the  words  that  dropped  from  the  lips  of  the  Reverend 
Hezekiah  Bumpas.  She  felt  it  down  to  her  toes. 

Mrs.  Saltren  indulged  her  in  this  particular  to  her  heart's 
content.  She  knew  many  persons  of  distinction.  Lady 
Hermione  Woodhead,  who  lived  in  Portland  Place,  had 
once  been  her  intimate  friend,  till  they  differed  about  Lord 
Lamerton's  marriage.  What  had  made  them  differ?  It 
did  not  become  her  to  speak,  but  his  lordship  had  set  his 
affections  elsewhere,  she  could  not  name  in  what  direction, 
and  had  been  inveigled  by  the  Woodheads  into  an  alliance 
with  their  family.  It  was  a mistake,  an  entanglement 
managed  by  designing  women. 

Lord  Lamerton  was  ill  after  his  engagement,  so  was 
another  person  who  must  be  nameless.  When  Lady 
Lamerton  died,  then  his  first  flame  had  married — without 
love,  and  in  his  desperation  he  married  again.  Of  course 


ARMINELL. 


439 


after  that  first  estrangement  she  and  Lady  Hermione  never 
spoke.  She — Marianne  Saltren — had  passed  the  Eari  of 

Anstey’s  family  repeatedly  without  recognition.  If  her 
landlady  doubted  her  word,  let  her  accompany  her  to  Hyde 
Park,  and  when  the  Anstey  family  drove  by,  she  would  see 
that  they  took  no  notice  of  each  other.  After  what  had 
happened  it  could  not  be  otherwise.  But  though  Mrs. 
Saltren  could  talk  what  nonsense  came  into  her  vain  head  to 
the  lodging-house  keeper,  she  was  disappointed  that  she  could 
not  to  a larger  circle,  disappointed  at  the  little  notice  she 
attracted  in  town.  It  was  most  strange  that  the  Welshes 
took  no  notice  of  her.  She  feared  that  they  were  going  to 
treat  her  with  coldness  and  not  introduce  her  to  the  dis- 
tinguished circle  of  acquaintances  in  which  they  moved. 

I knew  a young  girl  who  was  given  lessons  in  oil-painting 
before  she  had  learned  how  to  draw,  and  a somewhat 
similar  inversion  of  order  went  on  in  the  instruction  of 
Thomasine  Kite,  whom  Marianne  Saltren  began  to  train  to 
be  a lady’s-maid  before  the  girl  knew  the  elements  of 
domestic  service,  having  previously  been  a farm-maid,  feed- 
ing pigs  and  scouring  milk-pails. 

Thomasine  did  not  take  readily  to  instruction,  least  of  all 
could  she  acquire  deference  towards  her  mistress  ; and  Mrs. 
Saltren  was  irritated  at  the  freedom  with  which  the  girl 
accosted  her,  and  at  the  laughter  she  provoked  in  Thomasine 
when  she,  Marianne,  assumed  her  grand  manner.  More- 
over, she  discovered  that  her  landlady  had  be  n questioning 
the  girl  in  private  as  to  the  circumstances  and  former 
position  of  her  mistress,  and  Mrs.  Saltren  was  afraid  that  the 
revelations  in  the  kitchen  might  cause  some  of  her  stories 
to  be  discounted.  Fortunately  for  her,  the  broad  dialect  of 
Thomasine  was  almost  unintelligible  to  the  landlady,  and 
the  girl  had  the  cunning  of  the  uneducated,  which  leads 
them  to  evade  giving  a direct  answer  to  any  question  put 
to  them. 


440 


ARM  I NELL. 


Giles  Inglett  Saltren  was  unaware  till  he  came  to  town 
that  Arminell  was  settled  in  the  house  of  the  Welshes. 
He  knew  that  his  uncle  had  undertaken  to  arrange  matters 
of  business  for  her,  and  to  look  out  for  a house  and  com- 
panion for  her,  but  he  had  refrained  from  asking  questions 
about  her,  from  motives  of  delicacy.  Indeed  he  had  scaicely 
written  to  Mr.  Welsh  since  his  return  to  Orleigh.  He  was 
resolved  not  again  to  seek  his  assistance  on  his  own  behalf, 
but  to  find  a situation  for  himself.  When,  however,  he 
came  to  town,  and  met  his  uncle  at  an  office  in  the  city,  he 
learned  from  him  where  Arminell  was,  and  at  once  urged 
on  Mr.  Welsh  the  mischief  which  would  ensue  should  Mrs. 
Saltren  discover  that  Miss  Inglett  was  alive  and  their  lodger. 
Welsh  saw  that,  and  undertook  to  prevent  his  wife  from 
calling  on  Mrs.  Saltren,  and  promised  to  keep  his  eye  open 
for  an  opportunity  of  placing  Arminell  elsewhere.  Marianne 
Saltren  shared  the  prevailing  opinion  that  Miss  Inglett  was 
dead,  and  Giles  was  specially  anxious  lest  she  should  dis- 
cover that  this  was  not  the  case.  If  she  were  to  see 
Arminell,  would  it  be  possible  to  control  her  tongue  ? 
Would  she  not  be  eager  to  publish  the  fact  that  the  Honour- 
able Miss  Inglett  was  a guest  of  her  brother  and  sister-in- 
law? 

It  had  been  Saltren’s  intention  to  keep  away  from  Armi- 
nell, but  under  this  alarm  he  felt  it  his  duty  to  see  her  and 
precipitate  her  departure  from  Shepherd’s  Bush.  His 
mother  could  not  be  kept  indefinitely  away  from  her 
brother’sffiouse.  One  word  from  his  mother  might  frustrate 
Arminell’s  intention,  upset  her  plans.  From  Mrs.  Saltren 
the  report  would  rapidly  spread.  Mrs.  Cribbage  had  ears 
like  those  of  the  trusty  servant  on  the  Winchester  escutcheon, 
and  without  the  trusty  servant’s  padlock  on  the  tongue.  If 
once  the  truth  got  wind,  to  what  difficulties  would  the 
Lamerton  family  be  put,  now  that  they  had  accepted  and 
published  the  death  of  the  girl ! 


ARMINELL. 


441 


The  author  of  this  novel  was  involved  many  years  ago  in 
an  amateur  performance  of  “ Macbeth, ” but  the  sole  part 
he  took  in  the  tragedy  was  to  sit  in  the  midst  of  the  witches’ 
cauldron,  and  ignite  the  several  coloured  fires  which  were 
destined  to  flame,  as  scale  of  dragon,  tooth  of  wolf,  liver  of 
blaspheming  Jew,  were  cast  in.  But  when,  to  Locke’s 
lovely  music,  the  imps  and  witch  s danced  around  the 
vessel,  then  it  was  his  function  to  explode  a so-called 
flower-pot,  which  is  a roaring,  spirting  composition  of  fire- 
work. Unfortunately,  at  the  first  chorus  and  circular  dance, 
the  blazing  flower-pot  tumbled  back  upon  the  author,  con- 
cealed within  the  depths  of  the  cauldron,  and,  to  save  him- 
self from  an  auto-da-fe  end,  he  enveloped  the  flower-pot  in  a 
rug,  and  screwt.  d it  up  tight  and  sat  on  it.  So  the  scene 
ended,  and,  believing  that  the  fire-work  was  completely 
extinguished,  he  then  unfolded  the  rug.  No  sooner,  how- 
ever, did  the  air  reach  the  smothered  fire- work,  than  it 
bounced,  and  roared,  and  blazed  with  doubled  vigour.  It 
threw  out  sheaths  of  flame,  it  shot  off  roman  candles,  it 
ejected  a score  of  crackers  and  filled  the  entire  stage  with 
smoke,  and  very  nearly  burnt  down  the  theatre. 

Saltren  dreaded  something  of  this  sort  happening  now. 
The  fire-work  of  scandal  had,  indeed,  been  muffled  up  and 
smothered,  when  first  it  began  to  fizz;  but — who  could  tell? 
— if  it  got  air  again,  even  through  a pin-hole,  it  would 
burst  into  furious  conflagration  and  defy  all  efforts  made  to 
suppress  it. 

The  writer  of  this  story  takes  this  occasion  of  apologising 
— if  apology  be  necessary — for  the  introduction,  on  more 
than  one  occasion,  of  his  own  adventures,  his  own  opinions, 
and,  if  you  will  it,  his  own  prejudices  into  the  course  of  his 
narrative.  He  will  be  told  that  the  author  should  disappear 
as  a personality,  just  as  rhe  actor  merges  his  individuality 
in  that  of  the  character  he  represents.  He  must  treat  him- 
self as  a flower-pot  and  wrap  himself  up  in  the  garde-rol>£  of 


442 


ARMINELL. 


his  dramatis  persona.  I might,  of  course,  have  told  that 
story  of  the  flower-pot  in  the  cauldron  as  having  happened 
to  Jingles  at  Orleigh,  but  then  I could  never  have  told  that 
story  again  at  a dinner-party,  for  my  guest,  next  but  one, 
would  say,  “ Ah  ! that  happened  to  my  brother,  or  to 
my  uncle,  or  to  an  intimate  friend ;”  and  how  can  I 
deny  that  Jingles  did  not  stand  in  one  of  these  relations 
to  him  ? 

Montaigne,  the  essayist,  was  a sad  sinner  in  the  introduc- 
tion of  himself  into  his  prose.  The  essay  on  which  he  was 
engaged  might  be  on  the  history  of  Virgil,  or  Julius  Caesar, 
but  there  was  certain  to  creep  into  it  more  of  Montaigne 
than  of  either.  The  younger  Scaliger  rebuked  him  for  it, 
and,  after  having  acquainted  the  world  with  the  ancestry  of 
Montaigne,  he  adds,  “ His  great  fault  is  this,  that  he  must 
needs  inform  you,  ‘ For  my  part  I am  a lover  of  while  wines  or 
red  wines.’  What  the  Devil  signifies  it  to  the  public,”  adds 
Scaliger,  “ whether  he  is  a lover  of  white  wines  or  red  wines?” 
So,  but  with  more  delicacy,  and  without  the  introduction  of 
that  personage  whose  name  has  been  written  with  a capital 
D,  the  reader  may  say  to  the  author,  What  the  blank  does 
it  signify  what  you  think,  what  you  like,  what  you  did, 
whether  you  ever  sat  in  a cauldron,  whether  you  ever  had  a 
flower-pot  fall  on  your  head,  whether  you  sought  to  extin- 
guish it  by  sitting  on  it — go  on  with  your  story. 

But  a man’s  personality — I mean  my  own — is  like  that 
piece  of  pyrotechnic  contrivance,  a flower-pot.  He  wraps 
it  up,  he  smothers  it  under  fold  after  fold  of  fiction  ; but, 
fizz  ! fizz  ! out  it  comes  at  last — here,  there,  on  all  sides, 
and  cannot  be  disguised.  There  is,  to  be  sure,  that  subter- 
fuge, the  use  of  the  first  person  plural  in  place  of  the  first 
person  singular,  but  is  it  not  more  vain-glorious  to  talk  of 
We,  as  if  we  were  royalties,  instead  of  plain  and  modest  I ? 

When  Giles  Saltren  arrived  at  the  house  in  the  Avenue, 
Shepherd’s  Bush,  Arminell  flushed  with  pleasure,  sprang 


ARMINELL. 


443 


from  her  seat,  and  with  outstretched  hand  started  to  receive 
him;  then  she  checked  herself,  and  said,  “I  am  glad  to  see 
you.  Oh,  Mr.  Saltren,  I hear  nothing  of  Orleigh,  of  dear, 
dear  Orleigh  ! I have  the  heartache  for  news.  I want  to 
hear  my  own  tongue  wag  on  the  subject  nearest  my  heart, 
and  to  listen  to  tidings  about  the  people  I knew  there.  I 
am  like  a departed  soul  looking  back  on  familiar  scenes, 
and  unable  to  visit  them  and  old  friends,  and  unable  to 
communicate  with  them.  I am  Dives,  and  Orleigh  is  to 
me  Paradise.  You  have  come  thence  with  a drop  of  fresh 
news  wherewith  to  cool  my  thirsty  tongue.” 

“ I am  Lazarus  indeed,”  said  Saltren,  “ but  out  of  Para- 
dise. Ask  me  what  you  will  about  Orleigh,  and  I will 
answer  what  I can.” 

“ There  is  one  matter  that  teases  me,”  she  said ; “ I 
promised  a poor  fellow,  before  I left,  that  he  should  have 
employment  at  a small  wage,  and  I do  not  suppose  he  has 
had  what  I undertook  to  give  him.” 

“ Do  you  mean  Samuel  Ceely . He  is  provided  for." 

“ How  so  ? ” 

“ He  has  come  in,  unexpectedly,  for  a little  money, 
wherewith  an  annuity  has  been  purchased.” 

“ I am  glad  of  that.  And — my  mother  and  Giles,  have 
you  seen  them  ? ” 

“ Yes,  1 called  to  say  farewell  to  both.  Lady  Lamerton 
looks  worn  and  sad,  and  your  dear  brother  is  out  of  spirits ; 
but  this  could  not  be  otherwise.” 

Armineirs  eyes  filled,  and  she  went  to  the  window  and 
dried  her  tears. 

“ Miss  Inglett,”  said  the  young  man,  after  she  had  been 
given  time  to  recover  herself,  “ I have  only  ventured  to  call 
on  you”  for  one  reason,  that  I might  impress  on  you  the 
necessity  of  leaving  this  house.  My  mother  is  in  town,  and 
she  must  not  be  allowed  to  know  or  even  suspect  that  you 
are  alive  and  here.” 


444 


ARMINELL. 


Arminell  did  not  speak  for  some  time.  Presently  she 
said,  “ Do  not  let  us  talk  about  anything  at  present  but 
Orleigh.  I am  parched  for  news.  I daresay  there  is 
nothing  of  tremendous  importance  to  relate,  but  I care  for 
little  details.  How  was  the  house  looking  ? Were  the 
trees  turning  to  their  autumn  tints?  The  Virginian  creeper, 
was  that  touched  with  crimson  ? How  are  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Macduff?  I could  not  abide  them  when  I was  at  Orleigh, 
I could  be  thankful  now  for  a sound  of  their  delightful 
Scotch  brogue.  What  is  Giles  going  to  do?  dear  little  boy  ! 
I would  give  a week’s  sunlight  for  a kiss  from  his  moist  lips 
— which  formerly  I objected  to.  And  mamma — has  she 
been  to  the  Sunday  School  since — since — ? ” 

Then  Arminell’s  tears  flowed  again. 

After  another  pause,  during  which  the  young  man  looked 
through  the  photographic  album  on  the  table,  Arminell 
recovered  herself,  and  said,  “ Do  not  suppose  for  a moment 
that  I regret  my  decision.  My  conscience  is  relieved.  I 
am  beginning  to  acquire  fresh  interests.  I am  now  making 
a frock  for  baby.  I am  godmother  to  Mrs.  Welsh’s  child, 
and  have  come  to  be  very  fond  of  him.  But  there — tell  me 
something  about  Orleigh,  and  Giles,  and  my  mother — 
about  any  person  or  animal,  or  shrub  or  tree  there.  And, 
oh  ! can  you  obtain  for  me  some  photographs  of  the  place  ? 
I should  cherish  them  above  everything  I have.  I dream 
of  Orleigh.  I think  of  Orleigh,  and — I shall  never  see  dear 
Orleigh  again.” 

“ I will  come  another  day,  Miss  Inglett,  and  tell  you  all 
that  I can,  but  to-day  I must  urge  on  you  the  vital  necessity 
of  at  once  leaving  this  house.” 

“Your  aunt  can  hardly  get  on  without  me.” 

“She  managed  formerly  without  you,  she  must  do  the 
same  again.” 

“ But  there  was  no  baby  in  the  house  then.  And,  be- 
sides, the  new  cook  who  was  to  have  come  has  failed.  The 


ARMINELL.  445 

last  went  up  a ladder  sixty  feet  high,  and  it  took  several 
constables  and  a sergeant  to  get  her  down.” 

Arminell  laughed  through  her  tears. 

“ Miss  Inglett,  consider  what  the  difficulty  would  be  in 
which  her  ladyship  would  be  placed  should  it  become 
known — ” 

“ Mrs.  Saltren  and  her  lady's-maid  ! ” 

The  door  was  thrown  open  by  the  maid-of-all-work,  and 
she  ushered  into  the  drawing-room  the  person  of  all  others 
— except  perhaps  Mrs.  Cribbage — whom  it  was  desired  to 
keep  from  the  house,  and  she  was  followed  by  Thomasii  e 
Kite. 

Verily,  the  flower-pot  was  not  smothered.  It  was  about 
to  fizz  and  puff  again. 


CHAPTER  XL VI I. 


EQUILIBRIUM. 

The  story  is  told  of  a mouse  having  been  hidden  under  a 
dish-cover,  and  a married  pair  introduced  into  the  dining- 
room and  invited  to  partake  of  every  dish  except  that 
which  remained  covered.  When  lelt  to  themselves,  the 
woman,  contrary  to  the  advice  of  her  husband,  raised  the 
cover,  and  out  ran  the  mouse.  Blue  Beard  forbade  Fatima 
to  open  one  door  in  his  castle,  and  of  course  she  tried  the 
forbidden  key.  There  was  one  tree  in  the  midst  of  Paradise 
of  whicn  our  first  parents  were  not  allowed  to  eat,  and  of 
course  they  nibbled  at  the  fruit  to  discover  how  it  tasted. 
All  these  stories  point  to  the  truth  that  nothing  can  be  re- 
tained from  human  inquisitiveness.  A secret  resembles  a 
mouse  more  than  an  apple  or  a dead  wife  of  Blue  Beard, 
tor  the  mouse  escapes  when  once  uncovered  and  can  no 
more  be  hidden,  whereas  the  apple  disappears  when 
eaten,  and  the  dead  woman  is  locked  up  again.  A secret 
when  once  out  is  all  over  the  house,  and  is  far  too  wary  to 
be  trapped  again. 

Who  would  expect  to  find  a mouse  under  a dish-cover  ? 
So  with  secrets,  they  are  let  loose  from  the  most  unlikely 
places,  and  many  of  us  know  that  so  well  that  we  devote 
our. energies  to,  and  spend  our  time  in  lifting  china  cups, 
opening  snuff-boxes,  removing  lids  of  tea-caddies,  unsnap- 


ARMINELL. 


447 


ping  purses,  pulling  out  drawers,  boring  holes  in  casks,  in 
the  hopes  of  letting  out  secrets.  We  suspect  our  acquain- 
tance and  “ visit  ” their  goods,  as  if  we  were  custom-house 
officers  in  search  of  what  is  contraband.  We  know  that 
they  have  a forbidden  secret  somewhere,  and  we  search  and 
probe  everywhere  to  discover  it. 

There  are  mice  everywhere  ; if  we  hold  our  breath  and 
remain  still  for  two  minutes  we  can  hear  them  scratching 
and  squeaking ; and  there  are  secrets  everywhere,  behind 
the  wainscot,  under  the  floor,  in  the  cupboard.  Once  I 
knew  of  a nest  of  mice  in  a gentleman’s  boot,  and  once  in 
a lady’s  muff ; and  secrets  nest  and  breed  in  quite  as  extra- 
ordinary places — in  a pocket,  in  a bunch  of  flowers,  in 
envelopes,  under  pillows. 

H^sop  tells  of  a beautiful  cat  that  was  transformed  into 
a woman,  but  this  woman  could  never  forget  her  feline 
instinct  to  run  after  a mouse.  A great  many  ladies  I know 
have  the  same  feline  instinct  to  spring  out  of  bed,  up  from 
their  sofas,  to  make  a dart  after  a secret,  il  they  hear  but 
the  slightest  footsteps,  see  but  a whisker.  I do  not  blame 
them.  Men  are  sportsmen,  why  should  not  women  be 
mousers  ? We  find  pleasure  in  starting  a hare,  why  should 
not  a woman  find  as  much  in  starting  a couching  secret? 

I do  not  blame  them  for  their  love  of  sport,  but  for  what 
they  do  with  their  game  when  it  is  caught.  We  bag  ours, 
they  let  theirs  run.  Samson  did  the  same.  He  caught 
foxes  and  tied  firebrands  to  their  tails  and  sent  them  into 
the  standing  corn  of  the  Philistines.  Our  secret-hunters, 
when  they  have  caught  their  game,  tie  brimstone  matches  to 
their  tails  and  send  them  among  the  stores  of  their  neigh- 
bours. 

I do  not  believe  in  the  possibility  of  concealing  secrets, 
and  therefore  never  try  to  keep  them.  As  for  pursuing  a 
secret  when  once  out,  that  is  labour  in  vain,  it  changes 
form,  it  doubles,  it  dives,  it  has  as  many  artifices  as  a 


448 


ARMINELL. 


closed  fox.  As  soon  recover  a secret  as  recondense 
volatile  essential  oils  that  have  been  spilt.  A secret  is  not 
safe  in  our  own  heads,  for  our  heads  are  of  amber,  and  the 
secret  is  visible  to  every  one  who  looks  at  us,  like  a con- 
gealed fly  therein. 

In  one  of  the  Arabian  Nights’  Tales  a princess  goes  after 
a necromancer  who  has  transformed  himself  into  a scorpion, 
and  she  takes  the  shape  of  a serpent ; the  wizard,  hard 
pressed,  becomes  a cat,  and  the  princess  attacks  him  in  the 
di  guise  of  a wolf.  Then  the  cat  becomes  a seed,  and  the 
wolf  a cock,  thereat  the  seed  falls  into  a canal  and  is  trans- 
muted into  a trout,  which  is  at  once  chased  by  the  princess 
in  shape  of  a pike.  Finally  both  issue  in  flames  from  the 
water,  the  wizard  is  reduced  to  ashes,  but  so  also  is  the 
princess.  If  ye  try  to  overtake  and  make  an  end  of  a 
secret,  we  shall  meet  with  less  success  than  did  this 
princess.  She  at  last  succeeded  in  destroying  her  game, 
but  we,  in  our  efforts  to  catch  and  make  an  end  of  an  un- 
pleasant secret,  get  set  on  flames  ourselves.  . If  we  have 
anything  we  do  not  want  our  neighbours  to  know,  and  it 
has  got  out,  we  had  better  let  it  run  ; we  cannot  recover  it. 
Indeed,  I believe  that  the  best  way  to  conceal  what  we  do 
not  want  to  have  known  is  to  expose  it  for  sale,  to  dangle  it 
before  the  eyes  of  every  one,  like  those  men  outside  the 
Fxchange  who  offer  spiders  at  the  end  of  threads  of  elastic 
for  one  penny.  Nobody  buys.  No  one  even  looks  at 
them.  But  were  one  of  these  fellows  to  hide  such  a black 
putty  spider  in  his  hat,  up  his  arm,  in  his  pocket,  a crowd 
would  collect  and  pull  him  to  pieces  to  find  the  spider. 

It  was  not  immediately  that  Arminell  realised  the  serious 
consequences  of  Mrs.  Saitren’s  visit,  but  the  young  man 
knew  at  once  that  all  chance  of  the  secret  being  respected 
was  at  an  end. 

“ I am  interrupting,”  said  the  widow,  knowingly,  “I  am 
sure  I hadn’t  the  wish.  I came  to  see  Mrs.  Welsh,  and 


ARMINELL.  449 

never  expected  to  find  my  son  here,  much  less  Miss  In- 
glett.” 

“ Mrs.  Welsh  is  upstairs  with  the  baby,”  said  Arminell. 
“You  have  not  seen  your  nephew.  Shall  I fetch  him,  Mrs. 
Saltren  ? ” 

“ Not  for  the  world,  Miss  Inglett.  I will  run  upstairs 
and  find  my  sister-in-law,  who,  I do  say,  has  been 
negligent  in  calling  on  me.  But  if  the  mountain  won’t  go 
to  Mahomet,  Mahomet  must  go  to  the  mountain.  I’m  sure 
I don’t  want  to  intrude  here.  You  may  leave  the  room, 
Thomasine,  I don’t  want  you  to  follow  me  up  to  the  nursery. 
Go  down  to  the  kitchen.  Every  one  ought  to  know  her 
own  place.” 

When  the  girl  had  disappeared,  Mrs.  Saltren  said  confid- 
entially, “ We  brought  the  young  person  to  town,  and  she 
don’t  understand  how  to  friz  the  hair,  and  me  wanting  to 
wear  a fringe.  However  she  could  have  had  the  face  to 
offer  for  my  situation  as  lady’s-maid,  passes  my  understand- 
ing. But,  miss,  the  conceit  of  the  rising  generation  is  sur- 
prising. I want  to  ask  Mrs.  Welsh  to  take  the  creature  off 
my  hands  in  any  capacity  she  likes  to  name.  She  might  do 
as  parlour-maid,  or  nurse-girl,  or  cook,  anything  but  lady’s- 
maid.  I’ve  tried  to  teach  her  to  fold  gov^ns,  but  folding  is 
like  music  or  painting — you  must  be  borne  with  the  gift ; it 
cannot  be  learnt ; and  as  some  have  no  ear  for  tune,  and 
others  no  eye  for  colour,  so  have  some  no  natural  gift  for 
folding.  You  can’t  make,  as  they  say,  a fichu  out  of  a 
bustle.  I had  once  a red  flannel  coverlet,  and  a hole  was 
burnt  in  it,  so  I turned  it  into  a petticoat.  When  the  hot 
weather  came  I couldn’t  bear  it,  and  as  the  Band  of  Hope 
wanted  a banner,  I did  a non-alcoholic  motto  on  it  in  straw 
letters,  and  converted  it  into  a Temperance  banner,  and 
very  inspiriting  it  was.  It  is  the  same  with  girls.  Some 
you  can  adapt  to  all  sorts  of  purposes,  others  you  can’t.” 

When  Mrs.  Saltren  had  left  the  room  in  quest  of  her 

2 F 


45° 


ARMINELL. 


sister-in-law  and  the  baby,  Giles  said  in  atone  of  discourage- 
ment, “ I do  not  now  know  what  is  to  be  done.  It  is  in- 
evitable that  the  news  of  your  being  here  should  reach  Or- 
leigh,  either  through  my  mother  or  the  girl,  probably  through 
both,  not  perhaps  at  once,  but  eventually  Then — what  a 
difficult  position  Lady  Lamerton  will  be  in  ! ” 

Arminell  looked  down  on  the  carpet,  and  traced  the 
pattern  with  her  foot.  Presently  she  looked  up  and  said, 
“ I see — I never  did  justice  to  the  merits  of  humdrum. 
Even  when  I was  shown  my  folly  and  acknowledged  my 
fault,  I must  needs  still  play  the  heroine,  and  take  a bold 
step,  not  altogether  justifiable,  because  it  landed  me  in 
falsehood,  and  involved  others  in  untruth.  But  I thought 
then  it  was  the  simplest  course  for  me  to  follow  to  escape 
having  to  equivocate  and  even  lie.  The.  straight  course  is 
always  the  best.  Now  I admit  that.  Short  cuts  do  not 
always  lead  where  one  thinks  they  will.  I wish  I had  acted 
with  less  precipitation  and  more  modesty,  had  listened  to 
)Our  advice  and  acted  without  dissimulation.  For  myself 
now  I do  not  care,  but  I do  not  see  how  my  mother  and 
other  relations  can  extricate  themselves  from  the  dilemma 
in  which  I have  placed  them.” 

“ Nor  do  I.” 

“ I am  neither  dead  nor  alive.  The  situation  is  almost 
grotesque.  I wish  it  were  not  distressing.  Do  not  mis- 
understand me.  It  is  painful  to  myself  only,  as  every 
sharp  lesson  cuts.  But  I am  more  vexed  for  the  sake 
of  others  than  for  my  own.  I have  been  a fool,  an  utter 
fool. ’ 

She  put  her  hands  over  her  eyes. 

“ Upon  my  word,  Mr.  Saltren,”  she  said  after  an  interval, 
“ I have  hardly  an  atom  of  self-confidence  left.  There 
never  was  a more  perverse  girl  than  myself,  such  a profound 
blunderer.  I make  a mistake  whatever  I do.  What  is  to 
be  done  ? What  can  I do?  ” 


ARMINELL.  45 1 

Giles  Saltren  was  silent.  The  predicament  was  one 
from  which  there  was  no  escape. 

“ Your  mother’s  red  coverlet  was  better  than  me,”  said 
Arminell.  “ That  did  serve  some  good  purpose,  to  what- 
ever end  it  was  turned,  but  I always  get  from  one  difficulty 
into  another,  and  drag  my  friends  out  of  one  discomfort  into 
another  still  worse.  Only  here — here  am  I of  any  good  at 
ail  ; I was  born  into  a wrong  sphere,  only  now  have  I re- 
turned to  that  system  in  which  I ought  to  have  been  planted 
when  called  into  existence.  And  yet  even  in  this  I produce 
a disturbing  effect  on  the  system  of  planets  I have  left.” 

“ You  cannot  remain  in  this  house,  Miss  Inglett,  not  now 
for  the  reason  I gave  at  first,  but  because  too  much  is  put 
upon  you.” 

“ Nothing  is  put  on  me — I take  on  me  what  I feel  quali- 
fied tc  execute.  Do  you  remember  the  answer  made  by  the 
young  Persian  to  Cyrus,  when  the  prince  reprimanded  him 
because  his  actions  were  not  in  accordance  with  his  pre- 
viously expressed  sentiments  ? ‘ Sire,’  he  said,  ‘ I perceive 
that  I have  two  souls  in  me,  one  wilful  and  wicked,  and  the 
other  modest  and  righteous.  Sometimes  one  is  awake  and 
at  other  times  the  second.’  So  it  is  with  me.  Now  I trust 
the  nobler  soul  is  rubbing  its  eyes  and  stretching  itself,  and 
the  sandman  is  scattering  dust  in  the  eyes  of  the  baser  soul. 
My  old  soul  was  haughty  and  lived  in  an  atmosphere  of  ex- 
travagance, and  the  new  one  is  humble,  and  delights  in  the 
breath  of  commonplace.  Do  you  remember,  Mr.  Saltren, 
telling  me  of  the  effect  of  the  contrast  to  you  of  a return 
from  Orleigh  Park  to  Chillacot  ? You  said  that  you  were 
unfitted  by  the  grandeur  of  the  former  to  endure  the  mean- 
ness of  the  latter.  At  the  time  when  you  said  this,  I 
thought  that  such  a translation  to  me  would  be  unendurable, 
but* the  translation  has  been  effected,  and  I am  not  miser- 
able. On  the  contrary,  but  for  my  self-reproach  and  look- 
ing back  on  lost  faces  and  scenes,  I should  be  happier  here  : 


45  2 


ARMINELL. 


for  the  childlike  spirit  is  waking  in  me,  which  is  content 
with  trifles.” 

“ Happier — here  ! Miss  Inglett,  surely  not.” 

“Yes — happier.  I am  happy  in  helping  others.  I am 
become  useful  to  Mrs.  Welsh,  I relieve  her  of  the  baby,  I 
can  even  cook  fairly,  I make  the  glass  and  silver  shine.  The 
work  and  worry  here  were  more  than  your  aunt  could  bear. 
Cooks  are  scarce  as  saints  The  last  your  aunt  had — oh  ! 
I have  already  mentioned  the  circumstances.  I will  not  repeat 
them.  1 do  not  feel  that  the  house  is  small,  indeed  I am 
glad  that  it  is  not  larger.  We  talk  a good  deal  about  the 
misdeeds  of  servants,  and  the  difficulty  there  is  in  getting 
cooks ; in  my  former  world  we  talked  a good  deal  about  the 
unscrupulousness  of  politicians,  and  the  difficulty  there  was 
in  getting  morality  among  statesmen — political  morality  I 
mean.  We  discuss  now  the  humours  of  the  baby,  what  his 
dribbling  means — whether  teeth  or  disorder;  and  we  dis- 
cussed then  the  humours  of  the  public,  and  what  the  dribble 
meant  that  flowed  so  freely  at  public  meetings.  We  think 
now  how  we  may  cut  out  and  alter  garments  for  the  little 
creature ; and  then,  what  adjustments  and  changes  were 
needed  for  the  satisfaction  of  the  public.  Conversation  on 
each  subject  is  as  interesting  and  as  profitless.  I thought 
at  one  time  that  I could  not  live  away  from  rocks  and  trees — 
I hardly  miss  them  now.  I have  no  time  to  consider  whether 
I want  them  or  not,  because  I am  engaged  all  day.  I really 
believe  that  the  servant  girl,  the  slavey,  as  your  uncle  calls 
her,  is  happier  than  your  aunt  or  me,  because  she  has  the 
fewest  responsibilities  and  the  most  work.” 

Arminell  spoke  fast,  half  in  jest,  half  in  tears ; she  spoke 
quickly,  to  conceal  the  emotion  she  felt. 

“ Did  you  see  a picture  a:  the  Royal  Academy  a few  years 
ago  representing  the  Babylonian  Marriage  Market?  In  old 
Babylon  all  marriageable  women  were  sent  up  to  auction, 
and  the  sum  paid  for  the  pretty  ones  went  as  dower  for 


ARMINELL. 


453 


those  who  were  ugly.  Thus  was  a balance  preserved.  I 
suspect  it  is  much  the  same  in  life.  There  is  equilibrium 
where  we  least  expect  it.  The  peacock  has  a gorgeous 
plumage  and  a horrible  voice,  the  nightingale  the  sweetest 
song  and  the  plainest  feathers.  Some  of  our  most  radiant 
flowers  are  without  perfume,  and  some  that  smell  odorifer- 
ously  have  little  in  the  way  of  beauty  to  boast  of.  When  I 
was  in  the  aristocratic  world,  I had  my  luxuries,  intellectual, 
aesthetic,  and  physical,  but,  somehow,  I lacked  that  joyous- 
ness I am  finding  here.  In  the  middle  class  there  is  a 
freedom  from  the  restraints  which  cramped  us  in  the  class 
above,  and  I have  no  doubt  that  there  is  an  abandon, , an 
insouciance  in  the  class  below  which  makes  up  for  the 
deficiency  in  the  amenities,  refinements,  and  glow  of  life  in 
higher  spheres.  There  is  a making  up  of  the  balance,  an 
adjustment  of  the  equilibrium  in  the  market-place  of  modern 
life  as  in  that  of  ancient  Babylon.  Those  with  rank  and 
wealth  have  to  walk  with  muffled  faces,  only  the  plain  and 
lowly  may  breathe  freely  and  let  the  sun  kiss  their  cheeks.” 

“ Miss  Inglett,  I am  sure,  notwithstanding  your  efforts  to 
make  me  think  the  contrary,  that  you  are  not  happy.” 

“ 1 tell  you  that  I am.  I say  this  in  all  sincerity,  I do 
not  deny  that  I feel  a heartache.  That  is  because  my  con- 
science reproaches  me,  and  because  I now  love  and  regret 
what  I once  cast  from  me.  If  I had  not  been  born  elsewhere 
I should  be  fresh  and  happy  now,  but  every  plant  suffers 
for  a while  when  transplanted.  I am  throwing  out  my 
rootlets  and  fastening  myself  into  the  new  soil,  and  will  soon 
be  firm  fixed  in  it  as  if  I had  grown  there  from  the  beginning — 
my  only  trouble  that  I have  dreams  of  the  past.  A princess 
was  once  carried  off  by  Riibezahl,  giant  spirit  of  the  moun- 
tains, to  his  palace  of  crystal  in  the  heart  of  the  earth.  He 
gave  her  all  she  could  wish  for,  save  one  thing,  the  sound 
of  the  cattle  bells  on  the  Alpine  pastures.  His  home  was 
too  ,ar  down  for  those  sounds  to  reach.  Whenever  we  are 


454 


ARMINELL. 


carried  away  from  our  home,  we  must  always  carry  away 
with  us  some  recollections  of  pleasant  sounds  and  sights, 
and  they  linger  with  us  as  memories  over  which  to  weep. 
But  there — we  have  had  enough  about  myself — nay,  too 
much.  I want  to  hear  what  you  are  about,  and  what  are 
your  prospects.” 

“ I am  in  search  of  occupation,  and  have,  so  far,  met  only 
with  disappointment.” 

“ You  have  been  anxious.  You  are  not  looking  well.” 

“ Naturally,  I am  anxious.  I,  like  you,  have  the  weight 
of  the  past  oppressing  me.  Unlike  you,  I have  not  accom- 
modated myself  to  my  transplantation,  but — in  fact,  I have 
not  yet  found  soil  in  which  my  roots  may  take  hold.” 

“ What  soil  do  you  want?” 

“ Any.  There  is  a demand,  I am  told,  for  muscle  ; the 
market  is  glutted  with  brain,  or  what  passes  for  brain.  As 
there  is  a deficiency  in  the  supply  of  cooks,  I will  mount  a 
white  cap  and  apron  and  apply  for  a kitchen.  But,  seri- 
ously, apart  from  my  affairs,  which  can  wait,  yours  must  be 
attended  to.” 

“ But  nothing  can  be  done.  You  propose  nothing.  I 
can  suggest  nothing.” 

Then  in  came  Mrs.  Welsh  and  Mrs.  Saltren.  The  former 
was  carrying  the  baby. 

“ It  is  all  settled,”  said  Tryphcena  Welsh.  “ Rejoice  with 
me,  Miss  Inglett.  I did  want  a cook,  one  not  given  to 
climbing  ladders,  and  now  I have  got  one;  now  James  will 
swear,  for  he  has  been  spoiled  by  your  cookery,  Miss 
Inglett ; at  last  I have  got  a cook,  the  girl  Thomasine  Kite 
Come,  kiss  the  baby  and  thank  Heaven.” 


CHAPTER  XLVIII. 


l’allemande. 

Why,  blessings  on  me  ! ” exclaimed  Mrs.  Saltren,  on  her 
return  to  the  lodgings  in  Bloomsbury.  “ Whoever  expected 
the  pleasure  ! And — I am  sorry  that  you  should  see  us 
here,  Captain  Tubb ; not  settled  into  our  West-End  house. 
Me  and  my  son  are  looking  about  for  a suitable  residence, 
genteel  and  commodious,  and  with  a W.  to  the  address ; 
but  there  is  that  run  on  the  West  End,  and  it  is  almost 
impossible,  without  interest,  to  get  a house.  My  brother, 
however,  who  is  like  to  be  an  M.P.,  is  using  his  influence. 
But,  captain,  you  see  that  every  house  won’t  suit  me ; I’m 
not  going  to  be  in  the  shade  any  more.  Well,  it  is  a plea- 
sure to  see  an  Orleigh  face  here;  and,  pray,  what  has 
brought  you  to  town,  Captain  Tubb?” 

The  visitor  was  in  a black  suit,  that  obtained  for  his  son’s 
funeral;  he  held  his  hat  in  one  hand,  with  a broad  black 
cloth  band  about  it.  With  his  disengaged  hand  he  thrust 
up  his  beard  and  nibbled  the  ends. 

Ladies  play  with  their  fans,  coquette  with  them,  talk  with 
them,  angle  with  them  ; and  an  uninitiated  person  looking 
on  wonders  what  is  the  meaning  of  the  many  movements 
made  with  the  fan — the  unfurling,  the  snapping,  the  ha.f- 
opening.  Perhaps  Captain  Tubb  may  have  been  coquet- 
ting, talking  with  his  hat,  for  he  turned  it  about,  then  looked 


456 


ARMINELL. 


into  it,  then  smoothed  it  where  it  was  ruffled,  then  put  it 
under  his  chair,  then  took  it  up  and  balanced  it  on  his 
knee.  I cannot  tell.  If  he  was  not  speaking  with  his  hat, 
what  else  could  he  have  meant  by  all  the  movements  he 
went  through  with  it? 

“ Well,  ma’am,”  said  the  captain ; “ seeing  as  how  I was 
in  London,  I thought  I’d  come  and  inquire  how  you  was 
getting  along.  How  are  you  ? And  how  is  Mr.  Jingles  ? ” 

“ I,  myself,  am  but  middling,”  answered  Mrs.  Saltren, 
with  stateliness.  “ My  son — Mr.  Giles  Inglett  Saltren — is 
very  well  indeed.  I have  gone  through  a great  deal  of 
trouble,  and  that  takes  it  out  of  one,”  said  Mrs.  Saltren, 
“ like  spirits  of  nitre.” 

“So  it  do,  ma’am.  There  is  a vale  of  misery;  but  the 
sale  of  Chillacot  was  an  elevation  in  the  same  ; and  bank- 
notes are  of  that  spongy  nature  that  they  sop  up  a lot  o’ 
tears.  How,  if  I may  make  so  bold  as  to  ask,  is  your  son 
thinking  of  investing  the  money?  You  see,  ma’am,  poor 
Captain  Saltren  and  I knowed  each  other  that  intimate,  our 
lines  o’  business  running  alongside  of  each  other,  that  we 
was  always  a-hailing  of  each  other.  And  now  that  he’s 
gone,  it  seems  natural  for  me  to  come  and  consult  with  his 
relict.” 

“You’re  flattering,  Mr.  Tubb.  I must  say,  it  is  a pity 
my  poor  Stephen  did  not  oftener  consult  me.  If  he  had — 
but  there,  1 won’t  say  what  I might.  About  Chillacot,  he 
was  that  pig-headed  that — but  no,  not  another  word.  I’ve 
always  heard  say  that  the  wife  is  the  better  half.  What  a 
mercy  it  is,  and  how  it  proves  the  wisdom  of  Providence, 
that  the  wusser  half  was  took  away  first.” 

“You  don’t  know,  Mrs.  Saltren,  how  dreadful  you’re 
missed  in  Orleigh ; the  place  don’t  seem  the  same  without 
you.  And  folks  say  such  spiteful  things  too.” 

“ As  what,  captain  ? ” 

“As  that,  having  sold  Chillacot,  you  ought  to  spend  the 


ARMINELL.  457 

purchase  money  there,  and  not  be  throwing  it  about  in 
town.” 

“ Do  they  now  ? But  Fm  not  throwing  it  about ; it  is  all 
in  the  bank.” 

“ I reckon  Mr.  Jingles — I mean  your  son,  ma’am — has  it 
there  in  his  own  name.” 

“Not  at  all,  cap’n.  The  money  is  mine.” 

Captain  Tubb  whisked  round  the  brim  of  his  hat  with 
both  hands. 

“ There  have  been  changes  since  you’ve  gone,”  he  said. 
“ For  one,  there  is  old  Sam  Ceely  married.” 

“ Sam  Ceely  ! ” echoed  Mrs.  Saltren,  and  dropped  her 
hands  in  her  lap. 

“ It  does  seem  almost  wicked  for  a man  at  his  time  of 
life  and  crippled.  But  he  and  Joan  Melhuish  have  been 
keeping  company  a long  time,  and  now  he  has  come  in  for 
some  money.  I hope,”  said  the  captain,  “ that  the  childer, 
if  there  come  any,  mayn’t  come  into  this  world  with  half 
their  fingers  blowed  off  through  poaching,  and  a bad  life 
through  drunkenness.” 

Mrs.  Saltren  said  nothing. 

“ There’s  another  thing,”  pursued  Captain  Tubb.  “ The 
new  quarry  is  running  out,  and  we’re  thinking  of  reopening 
the  old  one.” 

“ What — that  which  is  full  of  water  ? It  is  worked  out.” 

“Oh,  no  ! there  is  more  lime  if  more  head  be  taken  off; 
but  there  can  be  nothing  done  till  the  water  is  pumped 
out.” 

“ You  are  thinking  of  pumping  the  quarry  dry  ? ” 

“Yes,  ma’am;  with  a water-wheel  it  could  be  cleared. 
I’ve  talked  the  matter  with  Mr.  Macduff  and  the  trustees, 
and  they  are  content  to  let  me  have  the  quarry  rent  free  for 
five  years,  if  I will  put  up  the  proper  machinery  to  get  out 
the  water.” 

“ The  expense  will  be  very  heavy.” 


ARMINELL. 


458 

Captain  Tubb  stroked  his  beard,  and  put  the  ends  into 
his  mouth  ; then,  after  consideration  he  admitted — 

“ Well,  it  will  cost  money.” 

“ And  are  you  really  going  to  sink  money  in  pumping  out 
water  ? ” 

“ Consider,  Mrs.  Saltren,  that  I shall  have  the  working  of 
the  quarry  for  no  rent  at  all  during  five  years.” 

“ And  you  think  it  worth  the  outlay  ? ” 

“ Seven  per  cent,  guaranteed.” 

“ My  son  says  that  all  I can  expect  to  get  for  my  capital 
if  invested  is  five  per  cent.” 

“ I dare  say,  in  town.  At  Orleigh,  seven.” 

Neither  spoke  for  some  time  ; Captain  Tubb  continued 
to  play  alternately  with  his  beard  and  his  hat ; and  Mrs. 
Saltren  looked  on  the  floor,  then  furtively  at  her  visitor. 

Presently  the  widow  asked,  “What  will  you  take? 
Bottled  stout  or  spirits  and  water  ? ” 

“ Thank  you,  whichever  you  drink.” 

“I  drink  neither,”  answered  Mrs.  Saltren,  drawing  herself 
up.  “ I taste  nothing  but  tea  and  water  ; but  when  an  old 
friend  comes  and  sees  me,  I make  an  exception.  I have 
some  whisky  in  the  sideboard — Giles  suffers  in  his  inside, 
and  I’m  obliged  to  keep  it  by  me  against  his  attacks.  If 
you  will  allow  me  I will  get  it  out.” 

She  rang  for  water  and  tumblers,  and  produced  the  spirits 
and  sugar. 

“ Now  tell  me  some  further  news  of  Orleigh,”  she  said,  as 
she  stirred  a glass. 

“ There  has  been  the  cottage  of  Patience  Kite  done  up 
again,”  said  he,  “ and  she  has  gone  back  into  it,  which  is 
unfortunate,  for  it  would  have  suited  me  if  I work  the  old 
quarry.” 

“ But  surely  it  would  not  be  large  enough  for  you,  cap’n.” 
He  shook  his  head.  He  had  finished  his  glass,  and 
now  abstractedly  he  half  filled  it  with  water. 


ARMINELL. 


459 


“ Since  poor  Arkie  died,  Fm  very  lonely.  It  is  fifteen 
years  since  I buried  my  wife.  I feel  as  lonely  as  does  this 
drop  o’  water  in  the  tumbler,  without  spirits  to  qualify  it.” 
Mrs.  Saltren  pushed  the  whisky  bottle  towards  him. 

“ Mix  to  your  liking,  captain,”  she  said. 

In  old  English  country  dances  there  is  a figure  known  by 
the  name  of  l’allemande,  which  consists  of  a couple  dancing 
round  each  other,  back  to  back,  after  which  they  join  hands 
and  dance  down  the  middle.  The  allemande  lingers  on  in 
Sir  Roger  de  Coverley,  but  is  never  performed  in  polite 
society.  It  survives  in  full  force  in  country  courtships. 

We  who  live  in  the  midst  of  artificiality  of  all  kinds  in  our 
time  of  roses  sigh  for  the  unchecked  liberty  of  the  rustic 
swain  and  his  milkmaid,  and  kick  at  the  little  etiquettes 
which  restrain  us  within  the  limits  of  decorum.  But,  as  a 
matter  of  fact,  the  love-making  below  stairs  is  oblique, 
prosaic,  and  of  a back-to-back  description,  full  of  restraints 
and  shynesses,  of  setting  to  partners,  and  allemanding  about 
them.  From  the  contemplation  of  pastoral  pictures  in  red 
crayon  on  our  Queen  Anne  walls,  we  carry  away  the  notion 
that  country  love-making  is  direct,  idyllic,  and  flowery.  It 
is  nothing  of  the  sort.  Come,  follow  the  allemanding  of 
this  mature  pair. 

“ Fve  not  yet  been  to  Brighton  and  seen  the  Aquarium,” 
said  Mrs,  Saltren.  “ Have  you,  Captain  Tubb  ? ” 

“Can’t  say  I have,  ma’am.  It’s  lone  work  going  by 
oneself  to  see  fishes.” 

“So  have  I thought,”  said  the  widow.  “And  for  that 
reason  I’ve  not  been.” 

“It  is  a wonderful  consideration,”  said  the  captain, 
“how  fond  cats  are  of  fish  ; and  how  ill  the  skin  and  bones 
of  a salt  herring  do  make  a cat  ! For  myself,  I like  trout.” 
“Well,  so  do  I!”  said  the  widow.  “They’re  fresher 
than  salt-water  fish,  as  stands  to  reason.” 

“The  old  lord  put  trout  into  the  quarry-pond,”  .said  Tubb. 


460 


ARMINELL. 


“ So  I’ve  heard  ; and  Saltren  told  me  they  were  monstrous 
fat  and  large.” 

“ There  is  no  catching  them,”  observed  the  captain  ; 
“ the  water  is  clear,  and  they  are  wary.  If  ever  I pump  the 
pond  dry,  ma’am,  you  shall  have  a dish.” 

“ Trout  should  be  eaten  when  they  are  just  out  of  the 
water,”  said  Mrs.  Saltren  ; “they  lose  their  flavour  when  a 
day  old.  I suppose  it  will  not  be  possible  for  me  to  have 
them  trout  you  so  kindly  offer  the  same  day  they  are 
ketched.” 

“ Not  possible  if  you  are  in  London,”  answered  the 
captain.  “ Perhaps  you’d  best  come  to  Orleigh  to  eat 
’em.” 

Then  ensued  a silence,  broken  at  last  by  Mrs.  Saltren, 
who  remarked,  with  a sigh — 

“There’ll  be  no  eating  of  them  trout  till  the  pump  is 
got.” 

“ That  is  true,”  sighed  Tubb.  “ But  then  the  money  is 
sure  to  be  raised  wherewith  to  put  up  the  water-wheel  and 
pump.  Just  consider,  ma’am,  seven  per  cent.  You’ve  not 
thought  of  investing,  have  you,  what  you  got  by  the  sale  of 
Chillacot  ? ” 

This  was  a direct  question,  and  the  captain  was  scared  at 
his  temerity  in  putting  it.  He  ate  a whole  mouthful  of  his 
beard. 

“ ‘ A fool  and  her  money  are  soon  parted,’  says  the 
proverb,”  answered  Mrs.  Saltren.  “Consequently,  I don’t 
think  I’ll  let  my  money  go  anywhere  without  me.” 

Captain  Tubb  drew  his  chair  closer  ; and,  instead  of 
settling  the  matter  at  once,  began  a fresh  allemand. 

“ What  do  you  think  of  mutton  here  in  London  ? ” 

“ I don’t  relish  it ; and  it  is  awfully  dear,  so  is  beef. 
Elevenpence  and  a shilling  for  what  at  Orleigh  cost  eight' 
pence  and  nineoence.  What  fortunes  them  butchers  must 
be  making ! * 


ARM  IN  ELL. 


461 


“ It  seems  a sin  to  encourage  them,”  said  Tubb. 

“ It  does  go  against  my  conscience,”  agreed  Mrs.  Saltren. 

“ Then,”  argued  the  captain,  “ I wouldn’t  encourage 
them.  Twopence  and  threepence  in  the  pound  is  too 
much  ” 

“ I’ve  a mind  to  return  to  the  country,”  said  Mrs. 
Saltren  , " I don’t  want  to  encourage  such  wickedness.” 

“ And  then,  ma’am,  you  can  eat  the  trout  fresh.” 

“ Ah,  captain  ! but  the  capital  for  pumping  ? ” 

Then  Captain  Tubb  cautiously  slid  one  arm  round  Mrs. 
Saltren’s  waist,  and  said — 

“ Come,  Marianne,  with  your  capital,  away  from  the 
mutton  of  town  to  the  trout  of  the  country.” 

“ I should  like  ’em  fresh,”  said  the  widow.  “ We’ll  pump 
together  for  them.” 

The  youthful  romance-reader  exacts  of  a novel  some  love 
making,  and,  to  satisfy  this  reader,  I have  given  this 
pathetic  and  romantic  scene  in  full.  To  this  sort  of  reader, 
style  is  nothing,  characterisation  is  nothing,  the  grammar  is 
nothing  —indeed  the  whole  story  is  nothing  if  there  be 
in  it  no  love-making. 

That  is  the  spice  which  flavours  the  dish,  and  without  it 
the  dish  is  rejected  as  unpalatable. 

To  encourage  this  reader,  accordingly,  at  the  outset  a 
chapter  was  devoted  to  love-making  in  tandem,  and  another 
to  love-making  abreast.  Only  one  of  those  love-affairs  has 
come  to  a happy  conclusion ; one  was  broken  off  by  the 
breaking-down  of  Patience  Kite’s  chimney.  To  make  up  to 
the  reader  for  her  disappointment,  I have  inserted  this  other 
love-scene,  and  have  introduced  it  near  the  end  of  my  book 
to  stimulate  the  jaded  appetite  to  finish  it. 

Is  it  false  to  nature  ? Only  those  will  say  so  who  are 
ignorant ofcountry  courtships.  Oh,  fora  Dionysian earthrough 
which  to  listen  to  —not  the  sighs  of  prisoners,  but  the  coo 


462 


ARMINELL. 


of  turtle-doves  ! Now  it  so  fell  out  that  the  writer  of  these 
lines  was  himself,  on  one  occasion,  an  eye-and-ear  witness  to 
the  wooing  of  a rustic  couple — involuntarily.  It  came  about 

in  this  way. 

When  I was  a boy,  on  a Sunday,  I had  set  a trap  to 
catch  rats  that  scared  the  scullery-maid  in  the  back  kitchen, 
and  caused  her  to  drop  my  mother’s  best  china.  But  as 
rat-catching  was  not  considered  by  my  parents  a Sabbatical 
amusement,  I set  my  traps  on  the  sly  when  they  were  at 
church  on  Sunday  afternoon,  and  I was  at  home  with  a 
cold.  The  housemaid  was  left  in  charge,  and  naturally 
admitted  her  lover  to  assist  her  in  watching  after  the  safety 
of  the  house.  Both  seated  themselves  in  the  kitchen,  one 
in  the  settle,  the  other  in  a chair  before  the  fire.  When  I, 
in  the  back  kitchen,  heard  them  enter,  I was  afraid  to  stir 
lest  my  parents  should  be  informed  of  my  proceedings,  and 
the  sanctity  of  the  Sabbath  be  impressed  tinglingly  on  me, 
across  my  father’s  knee,  with  the  back  of  a hair-brush,  a 
paper-knife,  or  a slipper.  Accordingly  I kept  still. 

Twenty  minutes  elapsed,  and  no  words  having  passed  I 
stole  to  the  kitchen  door  and  peeped  through.  The  maid 
sat  on  the  settle,  the  swain  on  the  chair,  unctuously  ogling 
each  other  in  silence. 

After  the  lapse  of  twenty  minutes  by  the  clock,  the 
youth  lifted  up  his  voice  and  said  solemnly,  “ Mary,  what  be 
that  there  thing  for  ? ” and  he  pointed  to  a button  above  the 
kitchen  range. 

“ That,  Joshua,  is  the  damper.” 

Again  silence  fell  over  the  kitchen,  only  broken  by  the 
ticking  of  the  clock.  After  the  expiration  of  twenty  minutes 
more,  the  youth  further  inquired,  “ And  what  be  the 
damper  for,  Mary  ? ” 

“For  to  make  the  fire  go  a smother-like,  Joshua,”  she 
replied. 

Again  twenty  minutes  elapsed  : then  I heard  a long- 


ARMINELL.  46  j 

drawn  sigh,  and  Joshua  said  in  a grave,  emotionless  voice, 
•*  Mary,  there  be  no  damper  in  my  buzzom.” 

“There  come  master  and  mistress  from  church/’  ex 
claimed  Mary  ; “ Joshua,  you  must  go.” 

“ Lord  ! ” ^aid  the  swain,  slowly  rising,  “ how  I have 
enjoyed  myself,  Mary.” 

Next  Sunday  the  banns  were  called. 

This  was  slow  allemanding  indeed,  quite  at  the  cinque- 
pace,  but  then  it  was  the  love-making  of  an  inexperienced 
youthful  couple*  Marianne  Saltren  and  Captain  Tubb  had 
gone  through  the  process,  at  least,  once  previously,  so  that 
there  was  not  the  same  shyness  and  stiffness  in  their  court- 
ship. Nevertheless  they  conformed  to  the  rule  of  country 
courtship,  and  allemanded  about  each  other,  though,  I grant 
you,  at  a sprightlier  pace  than  that  of  Joshua  and  Mary, 
before  they  joined  hands  and  went  down  the  middle. 


CHAPTER  XLIX, 


TWO  ORLEIGH  GIRLS. 

Mrs.  Welsh  burst  in  on  Aiminell  one  evening  just  before 
dinner  with  a face  of  dismay,  and  both  her  hands  uplifted. 

“ Mercy  on  us  ! What  do  you  think  ? ” 

Arminell  stood  up.  “What  has  happened,  Mrs.  Welsh?’ 
she  asked  in  some  alarm. 

“ My  dear  ! You  might  have  knocked  me  down  with  a 
feather.  I thought  that  the  girl  would  be  sure  to  know  how 
to  do  boiled  rabbit  with  onion  sauce.” 

“ Does  she  not  ? ” 

“ And  there  was  to  be  a Swiss  pudding.” 

“ That,  probably,  she  would  not  know  how  to  make,  but 
she  can  read,  and  has  Mrs.  Warne  to  fly  to  for  light.” 

“ I put  out  the  currant  jelly  for  the  pudding,  and  she  has 
spread  it  over  the  rabbit  on  top  of  the  onion  sauce.” 
Arminell  was  unable  to  restrain  a laugh. 

“ I went  down  to  see  her  dish  up,  and  that  is  what  she 
has  done.  Poured  the  onion  sauce  over  the  rabbit,  and 
heaped  the  currant  jelly  a top  of  that.  Whatever  shall  we 
do  ? The  last  cook  was  bad  enough,  but  she  did  not  spoil 
good  food.” 

“ What  induced  her  to  do  this  ? ” 

“ She  says  that  she  has  been  told  to  put  currant  jelly 
with  hare,  and  so  she  has  put  it  with  rabbit,  as  she  saw  the 
jelly-pot  set  out  on  the  the  kitchen  table  for  the  pudding.” 


ARMINELL. 


465 


“ And  the  pudding  ? ” 

“ Is  without  anything.  We  cannot  eat  the  rabbit.  That 
is  spoiled  ; and  the  pudding  is  nothing  without  red  currant 
jelly.  Whatever  will  Mr.  Welsh  do  for  his  dinner?  ” 

“ But  the  girl  had  Mrs.  Warne’s  Cookery  Book  on  the 
table  for  reference.” 

“ Yes,  but  she  also  had  a sensational  novel.” 

Arminell  laughed  again.  “I  am  afraid  the  education  she 
has  received  has  garnished  her  head  much  in  the  same 
fashion  as  she  has  garnished  the  rabbit,  several  good  things 
jumbled  together,  making  an  unpalatable  whole.  I will  go 
and  see  what  can  be  done.” 

“ I have  given  the  girl  notice.” 

“ Surely  not,  Mrs.  Welsh.  She  has  but  just  come  to  town.” 
“ I spoke  sharply  to  her,  and  girls  now-a-days  will  not 
bear  a word.  She  flew  out  at  me  and  said  she  would  not 
remain  another  hour  in  the  house.  Girls  give  themselves 
such  airs.  She  knows  my  extremity,  how  long  I have  been 
without  a cook.” 

Arminell  descended  to  the  kitchen,  but  Thomasine  was 
not  there.  The  boiled  rabbit  stood  on  the  table  crowned 
with  onion *sauce  and  crimson  jelly.  Near  it  lay,  wide  open, 
a book,  not  so  thick  as  Mrs.  Warne’s  Cookery  Manual,  and 
Arminell  stooped  to  look  at  it.  The  book  was  Gaboriau’s 
‘Gilded  Clique,’  much  stained  and  cockled,  as  if  it  had 
been  wet  through,  and  then  dried.  Arminell  turned  it 
over ; it  was  her  own  copy,  which  she  had  flung  from  her 
when  in  the  Owl’s  Nest,  to  arouse  and  arrest  the  attention 
of  Captain  Saltren.  She  could  not  doubt  that  it  was  the 
identical  book,  for  her  name  was  pencilled  on  it,  and  the 
water  had  not  effaced  the  pencil  scrawl.  She  did  not  know, 
what  was  the  fact,  that  the  book  had  undergone  two  im- 
mersions, and  had  twice  been  recovered  by  Patience,  and 
that  on  the  last  occasion  she  had  passed  it  on  to  her 
daughter. 


466 


ARMINELL* 


Arminell  stood  turning  over  the  disfigured  volume,  specu- 
lating on  how  it  had  come  into  Thomasine’s  hands,  and 
thinking  of  the  occasion  when  she  had  last  read  it  ; and  so 
thinking,  for  a moment  she  forgot  the  rabbit  with  its  incon- 
gruous garnishment,  and  why  she  had  descended  to  the 
kitchen.  She  was  roused  from  her  reverie  by  the  maid-of- 
all-work  coming  in  excitedly. 

“ Oh  my,  miss  ! What  do  you  think  ? Thomasine  has 
flown  out  at  missus,  and  packed  up  her  things  in  a bundle, 
and  gone.” 

“ Thomasine  gone  ! ” 

“ Lawk,  miss  ! She  wouldn’t  stand  no  nonsense,  she 
said  ; and  if  the  missus  didn’t  like  her  cooking  she  might 
cook  for  herself.  She  wouldn’t  stay.  Thomasine  had  a 
flaming  temper ; it’s  the  way  of  them  red-headed  girls.” 

“ Thomasine  gone  ! ” 

“ Gone  in  a tantrum,  her  cheeks  as  red  as  her  head.  I 
can’t  think  what  folks  find  to  admire  in  her  hair.  It  is 
thick  and  red.  I don’t  fancy  carrots.” 

“But  whither  is  she  gone?  She  is  a stranger  in  London, 
and  has  no  friends.” 

“ I don’t  suppose,  miss,  she  knows  herself.” 

“ Has  she  gone  back  to  Mrs.  Saltren  ? ” 

“ I don’t  fancy  so.  She  was  in  such  a rage,  she  thought 
of  noihing  but  going,  and  never  even  asked  for  her  wage.” 

“ Do  you  know  in  which  direction  she  went  ? ” 

“ No,  I was  not  on  the  look-out.  She  came  flaring  on 
me  to  give  me  good-bye,  and  away  she  went.  She  said  that 
as  the  missus  had  insulted  her,  go  she  would  to  where  she 
would  be  valued.” 

N “ Have  you  no  idea  where  she  is  gone  ? ” 

“ I don’t  know.”  The  girl  hesitated,  then  said,  “ Thom- 
asine said  as  how  there  was  a gentleman  at  the  hotel  where 
Mrs.  Saltren  first  was  who  admired  her  and  said  she  ought 
never  to  demean  herse  f to  go  into  service — I can’t  say,  she  has 


ARMINELL. 


467 


spoken  of  him  once  or  twice,  and  I fancy  he  came  to  look 
for  her  when  she  was  at  the  lodgings  with  Mrs.  Saltren — she 
may  have  gone  to  ask  his  advice  what  to  do  and  where  to  go.” 
“ That  is  enough,”  said  Arminell,  and  ran  upstairs,  put 
on  her  bonnet,  and  hastened  into  the  street.  She  was 
doubtful  in  which  direction  to  turn,  but  seeing  the  postman 
co  ning  with  the  letters,  she  asked  him  if  he  had  observed  a 
girl  with  red  hair. 

“What,  the  new  cook  at  Mrs.  Welsh's,  miss?  Oh,  yes, 
she  has  gone  by  with  a bundle.  Very  ’ansome  girl,  that.” 
Arminell  went  down  the  Avenue,  and  at  the  corner  en- 
countered a policeman  on  duty.  She  asked  him  the  same 
question.  He  also  had  noticed  Thomasine.  Indeed  he 
knew  her.  Her  splendid  build,  her  profusion  of  glowing 
hair,  and  beautiful  complexion  were  a phenomenon  in 
Shepherd’s  Bush,  and  all  the  milkmen,  butchers’  boys,  post- 
men, police,  knew  and  admired  her,  though  she  had  been 
in  the  house  of  Mrs.  Welsh  but  a fortnight. 

“ Yes,  miss,  she’s  gone  down  that  way — has  a bundle  in 
her  hand.  I asked  her  whither  she  was  going  and  she  said 
she  was  leaving  her  situation  because  her  mistress  was  im- 
pudent to  her.  Wery  ’ansome  gall,  that.” 

Arminell  went  on  to  a cabstand ; she  was  near  the  Ham- 
mersmith Station.  As  a disengaged  flyman  hailed  her,  she 
asked  him  if  he  had  seen  a young  woman  go  by  carrying  a 
bundle. 

“ A ’ansome  gal  with  red  hair?  To  be  sure.  ’Ailed  her, 
but  she  said  she’d  take  a ’bus.” 

Take  a ’bus  ! — she  had  gone  on  to  that  great  centre  of 
radiating  streets  and  roads  a few  steps  ahead.  Arminell 
quickened  her  pace,  almost  ran,  and  reached  the  main 
artery  of  traffic  between  the  City  and  Hammersmith  through 
Kensington.  She  had  a sharp  eye,  and  in  a moment  saw 
Thomasine,  who  was  mounting  an  omnibus.  She  ran,  as 
the  horses  started- — ran,  regardless  of  what  any  one  might 


468 


ARMINELL. 


think,  but  could  not  overtake  the  ’bus.  She  signed  to  the 
driver  of  a passing  empty  cab. 

“ Keep  up  with  the  Hammersmith  omnibus,”  she  said, 
panting.  “ When  it  stops,  set  me  down.  Here  is  a shil- 
ling.” She  sprang  in,  and  speedily  caught  up  the  scarlet- 
bodied conveyance,  descended  from  the  cab,  entered  the 
omnibus,  and  seated  herself  beside  Thomasine. 

She  was  out  of  breath,  the  perspiration  ran  off  her  brow, 
and  her  heart  b^at  fast.  She  could  not  speak,  but  she  laid 
her  hand  on  that  of  the  girl  which  rested  on  the  bundle, 
and  the  action  said,  “ I have  taken  you  in  charge.” 

She  was  beside  Thomasine,  and  could  not  see  her  face; 
she  did  not  attempt  to  look  at  her,  but  kept  her  hand  where 
she  had  laid  it,  till  the  omnibus  halted  at  Broad  Walk  in 
front  of  Kensington  Palace ; by  this  time  she  had  recovered 
her  breath  sufficiently  to  bid  the  conductor  let  her  out. 
She  rose  hastily,  still  holding  Thomasine,  who  did  not 
stir. 

“Come,”  said  Arminell,  “come  with  me,”  and  looked 
the  girl  straight  in  the  eyes. 

Thomasine’s  hand  quivered  under  that  of  Arrpinell,  and 
her  face  flushed.  She  dropped  her  eyes  and  rose.  In  an- 
other moment  they  were  together  on  the  pavement. 

“We  will  walk  together,”  said  Miss  Inglett,  “up  the  broad 
avenue.  I want  to  speak  to  you.  I want  to  know  why  you 
are  running  away,  and  whither  you  are  going  ? ” 

“ Please,  miss,”  answered  the  girl,  “ I ain’t  going  to  be 
spoken  to  by  Mrs.  Welsh.  Her’s  nothing,  nor  old  Welsh 
neither.  He  is  the  brother  of  Marianne  Saltren,  and  no 
better  than  me  or  my  mother.  They  may  set  up  to  be 
gentlefolk  and  give  themselves  airs,  but  they  are  only  com- 
mon people  like  myself.” 

“ You  have  made  a mistake,  Thomasine.  You  should 
not  have  put  the  currant  jelly  over  the  boiled  rabbit. 
Those  who  make  mistakes  must  have  them  corrected 


ARM  I NELL.  469 

How  would  you  like  to  have  your  pretty  velvet  bonnet 
spoiled  by  Mrs.  Welsh  spilling  ink  over  it  ? ” 

“ I should  be  angry.” 

“ Well,  it  is  the  same  case.  You  have  spoiled  the  nice 
dinner  she  had  provided  for  Mr.  Welsh.” 

“Welsh  is  nothing.  His  father  was  an  old  Methody 
shopkeeper  wh  > ran  away,  h ving  cheated  a lot  of  folk  out 
of  their  money.  1 know  ah  about  the  Welshes.  I’m  not 
going  to  stand  cheek  from  them.” 

“ But  you  will  listen  to  a word  from  me.” 

“Oh,  miss,  you  are  different.  I wouldn’t  be  impudent 
to  you  for  anything.  But  it  is  other  with  them  stuck-ups  as 
are  no  better  than  myself.” 

“ You  will  not  try  to  twist  yourself  away  from  me  ? ” 

“ No,  miss.” 

“ I want  you  to  tell  me,  Thomasine,  whither  you  were 
running  ? Were  you  going  to  Mrs.  Saltren  ? ” 

“Mrs.  Saltren!”  scoffed  the  girl.  “She  is  nothing. 
Marianne  Saltren,  the  daughter  of  the  canting  old  cheat, 
and  widow  of  a mining  captain.  I won’t  be  servant  to  her. 
Not  I.” 

“Whither  were  you  going,  then?  ” 

Thomasine  was  silent. 

Arminell  walked  at  her  side  ; she  had  let  go  the  girl’s  hand. 
“ I ran  after  you,”  said  Arminell. 

“ Was  that  what  made  you  so  hot  and  out  of  breath,  miss?'' 
“Yes,  I was  frightened  when  I heard  that  you  had  gone 
away.” 

“ What  was  there  to  frighten  you  ? I had  not  taken  any 
spoons.” 

“ I never  supposed  that  for  a moment.  I was  alarmed 
about  yourself.” 

“ I can  take  care  of  myself.  I am  old  enough.” 

“ I am  not  sure  that  you  can  take  care  of  yourself. 
Thomasine,  you  and  I come  from  the  same  place,  dear 


4?o 


ARM  IN  ELL. 


Orleigh,  and  it  is  such  a pleasure  to  me  to  see  you,  and 
hear  you  talk.  When  I found  that  you  were  gone,  I 
thought  what  shall  I do  without  my  dear  Tamsine  to  talk 
with  about  the  old  place  I love  so  much?” 

“ Why  don’t  you  go  back  to  it,  miss,  if  you  like  it  ? ” 
asked  the  girl. 

“ Because  I cannot.  Come  closer  to  me.”  Arminell 
caught  the  girl’s  hand  again.  “ I also  ran  away.  I ran 
away,  as  you  are  running  away  now.  That  has  brought 
upon  me  great  sorrow  and  bitter  self-reproach,  and  I would 
save  you  from  doing  the  same  thing  that  I have  done,  and 
from  the  repentance  that  comes  too  late.” 

“ They  said  at  Orleigh,  miss,  that  you  were  dead.” 

“ 1 am  dead  to  Orleigh  and  all  I love  there.  Why  did 
you  come  to  town  with  Mrs.  Saltren,  if  you  do  not  care  to 
be  with  her  ? ” 

“ Because  I wanted  to  see  the  world,  but  I had  no  inten- 
tion of  remaining  with  her.” 

“ Then  what  did  you  intend  ?” 

Thomasine  shrugged  her  shoulders.  “I  wanted  to  see 
life,  and  have  some  fun,  and  know  what  London  was  like. 
I don’t  want  to  slave  here  as  I slaved  in  a farm.” 

“ You  came  to  town  restless  and  discontented,  so  did  I ; 
and  n w I would  give  everything  I have  to  be  set  back 
where  I was.  You  came  in  the  same  spirit,  and  I have 
stopped  you  on  the  threshold  of  a grave  disaster,  and  per- 
haps saved  you  from  unutterable  misery.  Thomasine,  dear 
Thomasine,  tell  me  the  truth.  Were  you  going  to  that 
hotel  where  some  one  flattered  your  vanity  and  held  out  to 
you  prospects  of  idleness?  You  were  leaving  hard  work 
and  the  duties  that  fell  to  your  lot  where  God  placed  you, 
because  impatient  of  restraint.  You  had  learned  the  one 
lesson  that  is  taught  in  all  schools  to  boys  and  girls  alike — 
hatred  of  honest  work.  Tamsine,  you  must  return  with 


me. 


ARMINELL.  47 1 

The  girl  pouted.  Arminell,  looking  round,  saw  the  curl 
in  her  lip. 

“ I don’t  care  to  be  under  the  Welshes,”  said  the  girl  ; 
“nor  Marianne  Saltren,  neither.  They  ain’t  better  than 
me,  and  why  shouldn’t  I be  as  stylish  as  they  ? ” 

“ If  you  resent  being  with  them,  be  with  me.  Be  my 
maid.  I am  not  going  to  remain  in  Shepherd’s  Bush.  I 
intend  to  take  a house  somewhere  in  the  country — some- 
where where  I can  be  useful,  and,  Tamsine,  find  work,  hard 
work  that  I can  do  for  others.  That  is  what  I seek  now 
for  myself.  Will  you  come  with  me  ? Then  we  two 
Orleigh  girls  will  be  together,  that  will  be  charming.” 

Thomasine  turned  and  looked  wonderingly  at  Miss 
[nglett.  We  two  Orleigh  girls  ! We  — the  baron’s 
daughter  and  the  wis^  woman’s  bastard. 

“I’d  like  my  frolic  first,”  said  Thomasine. 

“ After  that — I could  not  receive  you,”  answered  Arminell 
gravely. 

“ I don’t  see,”  said  Thomasine,  still  pouting,  but  uneasy 
and  undecided,  with  the  colour  flying  in  flakes  over  her 
face  and  showing  through  the  transparent  complexion.  “ I 
don’t  see  why  we  are  to  be  always  kept  at  work,  and  not 
be  allowed  to  amuse  ourselves.  We  aren’t  young  for 
long.” 

“ Tamsine,”  said  Arminell,  “ poor  Arkie  Tubb  sat  by  you 
when  your  mother’s  cottage  was  being  pulled  down,  and 
when  you  thought  that  she  was  in  danger,  and  you  could 
not  run  to  her  aid  yourself,  because  you  had  turned  your 
ankle,  you  sent  him.  You  sent  him  to  his  death.  The 
chimney  fell  and  buried  him.  If  he  had  considered  himself 
he  would  not  have  risked  his  life  for  your  mother.  We  all 
honour  him  for  what  he  did.  He  never  was  clever  and 
sharp  in  life,  he  failed  in  everything  he  undertook,  he  even 
failed  then,  for  he  did  not  bring  your  mother  out  of  the  ruin, 
he  was  buried  in  it  himself.  But  he  was  a hero  in  his 


472 


ARM  I NELL. 


death  because  he  sacrificed  himself  for  others — for  you,  be- 
cause he  loved  you,  and  for  your  mother.” 

Thomasine  said  nothing,  but  her  hand  twitched  in  that 
of  Arminell. 

“ You  must  be  worthy  of  him,  remain  worthy  of  him. 
Thomasine,  if  you  follow  your  own  self-will  and  passion  for 
pleasure,  people  will  say  it  was  well  that  Arkie  Tubb  died, 
she  was  not  deserving  of  him.” 

They  had  reached  the  head  of  the  Broad  Walk,  and  issued 
from  Kensington  Park  into  Uxbridge  Road.  The  stream 
of  traffic  flowed  east  and  west,  east  to  the  City,  west  to 
Shepherd’s  Bush,  past  them,  and  they  stood  watching  the 
two  currents.  Thomasine  withdrew  her  hand. 

Arminell  was  certain  that  this  was  a critical  moment  in 
the  girl’s  heart.  She  said  nothing  more.  She  had  said 
enough,  she  waited.  Thomasine  turned  her  face  east,  and 
took  a step  in  that  direction  with  a red  flush  in  her  cheek. 
Then  the  red  flush  rose  to  her  brow  and  deserted  her  cheek, 
and  she  turned  back. 

Presently  she  said,  “May  T take  your  hand  again,  miss?” 

Arminell  readily  gave  it. 

Then  Thomasine  strode  to  the  west,  holding  Arminell. 
She  seemed  fearful  of  herself  if  left  to  herself,  but  confident 
whilst  holding  the  hand  of  Arminell.  The  good  angel  had 
conquered,  and  that  good  angel  was  the  thought  of  poor, 
blundering,  kindly,  stupid  Arkie  Tubb. 

Is  ever  a life  utterly  thrown  away  ? It  had  seemed  so 
when  the  stones  crushed  the  soul  out  of  that  lad.  A profit- 
less life  had  ended  unprofitably.  But  see ! Here  at  the 
end  of  Broad  Walk,  Kensington,  that  cast-away  life  was  the 
saving  of  the  girl  whom  he  had  loved  unprofitably. 


CHAPTER  L. 


A RAZOR  TO  CUT  CABBAGES. 

An  old  man  told  me  one  day  that  he  had  spent  fifty  years 
of  his  lite  in  making  a concordance  of  the  Bible — he  had 
never  heard  of  Cruden’s  work.  The  labour  of  fifty  years 
thrown  away  ! I know  another  who  sank  all  his  savings  in 
publishing  a Law  Compendium  he  had  compiled,  and  uhen 
it  was  published  sold  two  copies. 

Jingles  was  going  through  a heart-breaking  experience. 
He  was  discovering  that  ail  he  had  acquired  in  school  and 
university  was  a disadvantage  to  him  in  the  position  in  which 
he  now  found  himself. 

He  had  been  well  educated,  had  been  polished  and 
sharpened ; but  the  money  spent  on  his  education  might 
as  well  have  been  thrown  into  the  sea,  and  the  lime  devoted 
to  learning  have  been  as  profitably  given  up  to  billiards. 

This  would  not  have  been  the  case  had  Giles  Inglett 
Saltren  been  able  to  enter  a learned  profession,  but  as  this 
was  out  of  the  question,  his  education  was  profitless.  He 
had  been  qualified  to  take  his  place  in  a social  class  in 
which  he  was  no  more  able  to  show  himself. 

One  day  Jingles  had  given  his  razor  to  a boy  to  sharpen 
for  him.  The  lad  took  it  to  a grindstone  and  put  an  edge 
to  the  back.  “ Please,  sir,”  said  the  fellow  when  repri- 
manded, “ the  front  was  middling  sharp,  so  I thought 


474 


ARMINELL. 


I’d  put  an  edge  to  the  back.”  Jingles  remembered  this 
incident  now  with  some  bitterness.  He  had  been  sharpened 
on  the  wrong  side  for  cutting  his  way.  He  was  a classic 
scholar,  knew  his  ^Eschylus  and  Euripides,  and  could  write 
elegant  Latin  verses.  He  was  disciplined  in  the  manners 
and  habits  of  the  upper  class.  But  he  knew  little  of  modern 
languages,  and  his  working  out  of  a sum  in  compound  addi- 
tion left  much  to  be  desired. 

At  first  he  looked  out  for  such  a situation  as  would  suit 
him,  but  speedily  discovered  that  what  he  must  find  was  a 
situation  which  he  would  suit. 

A librarianship,  a secretaryship,  lastly  a tutorship,  com- 
mended themselves  to  him  as  situations  for  which  he  was 
qualified  ; but  such  situations  are  few,  and  the  applicants 
are  legion. 

The  paralytic  in  the  Gospel  was  always  wanting  to  be  let 
dovvn  into  Siloam  after  the  troubling  of  the  water,  but  in- 
variably found  that  some  one  else  had  stepped  in  whilst  he 
was  being  carried,  or  was  laboriously  dragging  himself  to  the 
hi  nk.  It  was  so  with  Jingles.  When  he  did  hear  of  a 
vacancy  that  would  suit  him,  and  made  application  for  it, 
it  was  to  find  that  another  had  stepped  in  before  him. 

He  tried  for  private  pupils.  He  was  ready  to  attend  any 
house  and  teach  during  the  day.  He  would  prefer  that  to 
being  again  taken  into  a family  as  a resident  tutor,  but  he 
was  not  even  as  successful  as  Nicholas  Nickleby.  There: 
were  no  little  Miss  Kenwigses  to  be  taught. 

He  had  a difficulty  about  giving  references.  He  could 
not  mention  Lady  Lamerton,  and  invite  inquiries  concerning 
him  of  the  family  at  Orleigh  Park.  At  first  he  was  reluctant 
to  apply  to  his  uncle  for  a testimonial,  or  for  leave  to  use  his 
name,  but  when  he  found  that  his  way  was  blocked  through 
lick  of  references,  he  swallowed  his  pride  and  asked  the 
requisite  permission  of  Mr.  Welsh.  The  leave  was  granted, 
and  conduced  to  nothing. 


ARMINELL. 


475 


If  pride  could  have  fattened,  about  this  time,  Jingles 
ought  to  have  grown  plump,  he  swallowed  so  much  of  it ; 
but  it  was  like  blackbeetles  to  a cat — it  made  him  grow 
lanker. 

He  spent  a good  deal  of  money  in  advertising  in  the 
daily  papers,  but  got  no  answers.  Then  he  took  to  answer- 
ing advertisements,  and  met  with  no  better  success.  Then 
he  applied  to  agents,  paid  fees,  and  got  no  further.  It  was 
to  the  advantage  of  these  go-betweens  to  put  bad  men  in 
good  posts,  and  thrust  good  men  into  bad  posts,  to  plant 
square  men  into  round  holes,  and  round  men  in  square 
holes. 

Every  change  brought  an  additional  fee,  and  naturally 
this  consideration  had  its  influence  on  the  agents. 

There  was  a whole  class  of  middle  schools  conducted  by 
speculative  men  without  education  themselves,  for  the  sons 
of  tradesmen  and  farmers,  where  the  teaching  given  was  of 
the  worst  description,  and  the  moral  supervision  was  of 
the  most  inefficient  quality.  The  ushers  in  these  were 
Germans,  Swiss,  and  French,  men  out  of  pocket  and  out  at 
elbows,  picking  up  a wretched  subsistence,  and  eating  as 
their  daily  diet  humble-pie.  The  doors  of  these  “ Acade- 
mies for  Young  Gentlemen  ” were  closed  to  Saltren  because 
he  was  an  University  man  and  a scholar.  He  was  danger- 
ous, he  knew  too  much,  and  might  expose  the  hollowness 
of  these  swindles. 

Convinced  at  length  that  there  was  no  hope  of  his  getting 
any  place  such  as  he  would  like,  in  which  his  acquirements 
would  avail.  Jingles  turned  to  commercial  life.  But  here 
also  he  found  that  his  education  stood  in  the  way.  He 
went  to  Mincing  Lane  in  quest  of  a clerkship  in  one  of  the 
great  tea,  rice,  sugar,  and  spice  firms ; but  there  an  accoun- 
tant and  not  a logician  was  wanted. 

Next  he  visited  Mark  Lane  and  sought  admission  into 
one  of  the  great  corn-factors’  offices.  He  was  too  raw  for 


476 


ARMINELL. 


these  men  ; what  were  wanted  in  such  houses  as  these  in 
Mark  and  Mincing  Lanes  were  sharp  lads  of  from  seventeen 
to  nineteen,  trained  at  Board  Schools,  who  could  reckon 
rapidly,  and  were  not  above  being  sent  messages ; lads  who 
would  be  filed  into  business  shape,  who  were  disciplinable 
to  take  a special  line,  not  young  men  educated  already  and 
with  their  heads  stuffed  with  matter  utterly  useless  for 
business. 

In  a state  of  discouragement  Jingles  next  visited  Lloyds. 
There  it  was  the  same.  What  did  he  want?  To  become 
an  underwriter  ! Well  and  good,  let  him  deposit  five  thou- 
sand pounds  and  find  a clerk  at  two  hundred,  with  five  per 
cent,  on  all  transactions,  till  he  had  himself  thoroughly 
mastered  the  system  of  underwriting.  He  could  not  afford 
this.  He  must  be  taken  on  as  clerk.  Where?  At  Lloyds, 
or  at  one  of  the  Marine  Insurance  offices  that  has  its  base 
at  Lloyds.  What  did  he  know  of  the  work  ? The  clerk 
has  to  go  round  with  policies  to  be  initialed,  and  when  the 
books  return  to  the  office  after  four  o’clock,  he  has  to  make 
them  up.  What  did  he  understand  about  the  value  of 
cargoes  and  the  risks  run  ? There  was  no  place  for  him  in 
a Marine  Insurance.  Some  one  recommended  him  to  try 
stockbroking. 

Like  a greenhorn,  as  he  was,  Jingles  made  at  once  for 
the  Exchange,  and,  passing  the  porters,  entered  the  House. 
The  vast  space  was  crowded.  The  din  bewildered  him. 
He  heard  names  shouted  from  the  telegraph  offices,  the  call 
of  porters,  the  voices  of  the  stock-jobbers  raised  in  dispute 
or  argument.  All  at  once  an  exclamation,  “ Seventeen 
hundred.”1  Then  ensued  a gravitation  towards  himself, 
and  in  a moment  his  hat  was  knocked  over  his  eyes,  then 
he  was  thrust,  elbowed,  jostled  from  side  to  side. 

When  he  recovered  his  sight,  his  hat  was  snatched  from 

1 This  was  the  original  number  on  Exchange,  and  the  call  is  one  to 
attract  attention  to  an  unv  arranted  intrusion. 


ARMINELL. 


477 


his  hand  and  flung  across  the  House.  Next,  his  umbrella  was 
wrenched  from  him,  and  with  it  he  was  struck  over  the  back. 

“ You  have  no  right  in  here,  sir,”  said  a porter. 

“ Don't  mind  him,”  shouted  a dozen  around.  “ We  are 
heartily  glad  to  make  your  acquaintance.” 

The  horseplay  was  resumed,  and  as  the  young  man's 
blood  rose,  and  he  resented  the  treatment,  and  showed 
fight,  he  was  still  more  roughly  handled,  and  finally  found 
himself  kicked  and  hustled  out  of  the  Exchange. 

Giles  Saltren  stood  on  the  step  without,  minus  a hat  and 
umbrella,  and  with  his  coat  split  down  the  back — his  best 
coat  put  on  to  produce  a good  impression  on  employers — 
stood  dazed  and  humbled,  an  object  of  derision  to  match- 
boys  and  flower-girls,  who  danced  about  him,  with  words 
and  antics  of  mockery. 

Presently  an  old  white-haired  stockbroker,  who  came  out 
of  the  Exchange,  noticed  him,  and  stopped  and  spoke  to 
him,  and  bade  him  not  be  angry.  What  had  occurred  was 
due  to  his  having  intruded  where  he  had  no  right  to  be. 
Jing’es  answered  that  he  had  gone  there  because  he  was  in 
quest  of  employment,  whereupon  he  was  told  he  might  just 
as  well  have  jumped  into  the  Thames  because  he  desired 
engagement  on  a penny  steamer. 

“Young  gentleman,”  said  the  broker,  “it  is  of  no  use 
your  looking  for  employment  in  our  line  of  business.  We 
have  a Clerks’  Provident  Fund,  to  which  every  clerk  out  of 
employ  subscribes ; and  if  a broker  wants  a man  at  forty, 
sixty,  a hundred,  two  hundred  pounds,  he  applies  to  the 
secretary  of  the  Provident  Fund,  who  furnishes  him  with 
the  man  he  wants  out  of  the  number  of  those  then  disen- 
gaged. You  have  no  experience,  or  you  would  not  have 
ventured  into  the  House.  If  I want  an  errand  boy,  I take 
on  the  son  of  a clerk.  You  have,  I fear,  no  connexions  in 
the  line  to  speak  a word  for  you  1 You  have  been  to  the 
University,  do  you  say  ? ” 


478 


ARMINELL. 


The  broker  whistled. 

“ My  good  sir,  I do  not  recommend  you  to  waste  time  in 
applying  at  stockbrokers7  offices  ; you  are  likely  to  make 
acquaintance  with  the  outside  only  of  their  office  doors. 
There  is  more  chance  for  the  son  of  a bed-maker  or  a 
chimney-sweep  than  for  you.” 

Giles  Saltren  next  sought  admission  into  a bank,  but 
found  that  this  was  a business  even  more  close  than  that  of 
stock-jobbing.  The  banking  business  was  like  the  sleeping 
Brynhild,  surrounded  by  a waberlohe , a wall  of  flame  ; and 
he  was  no  Siegfried  to  spur  his  horse  through  the  ring  of 
fire. 

Having  discovered  how  futile  were  his  attempts  to  enter 
a bank,  he  turned  to  the  docks,  in  hopes  of  getting  a situa- 
tion in  a shipping-office,  only  there  also  to  meet  with  rebuff. 

Then  he  saw  an  advertisement  from  a West-End  shop- 
keeper, one  of  those  giants  of  trade,  who  has  an  universal 
store.  There  was  a vacancy  in  the  stocking  department  for 
a young  man.  Applicants  were  to  appear  personally  at  a 
fixed  hour  on  Friday  next. 

Giles  Inglett  hesitated  before  he  could  resolve  to  offer 
himself  as  a counter-jumper,  and  acquire  the  “ What  can 
we  serve  you  next  with,  ma’am  ? 77  To  descend  to  the 
counter  from  the  Oxford  schools  was  a great  descent ; but 
Jingles  was  like  a vessel  in  stress  of  weather,  throwing  over- 
board all  her  lading.  Away  must  go  his  Greek,  his  Latin, 
his  logic,  his  position  as  an  University  scholar,  that  of  a 
gentleman,  his  self-esteem,  certainly,  his  self-respect  to  9ome 
extent,  his  ambition  altogether. 

But  why  not  ? He  was  not  born  to  be  a gentleman  ; it 
was  by  a happy  accident  that  he  had  been  given  an  educa- 
tion that  furnished  him  with  most  accomplishments  which 
adorn  a man  of  birth  and  standing.  He  must  remember 
that  he  was  not  entitled  by  his  parentage  to  anything  above 
a shopman’s  place,  and  must  gulp  down  this  junk  of  pride. 


ARMINELL. 


479 


On  the  appointed  day  Saltren  went  to  Westbourne  Grove, 
and  found  that  he  was  but  one  of  between  three  or  four 
hundred  young  men,  applicants  for  the  vacancy  behind  the 
stocking  counter.  His  appearance,  delicate  and  refined, 
the  diffidence  with  which  he  spoke,  were  against  him,  and 
he  found  himself  at  once  and  decisively  rejected,  and  a 
vulgar  young  fellow  at  his  side,  full  of  self-conceit,  was 
chosen  instead. 

Saltren  made  application  in  other  offices,  but  always 
without  success  : his  ignorance  of  shorthand  was  against 
him.  In  the  offices  of  solicitors  it  is  indispensable  that 
shorthand  be  practised  by  the  clerks.  It  facilitates  and 
expedites  the  dictation  of  letters. 

So  also,  had  he  been  a proficient  in  shorthand,  he  might 
have  obtained  work  as  a reporter  at  meetings.  But  to  his 
grief  he  discovered  that  all  the  education  he  had  received 
which  tended  to  broaden  the  mind  was  valueless,  that  only 
was  profitable  which  contracted  the  intellect.  Saltren, 
moreover,  was  speedily  given  to  understand  that  unless  he 
went  in  search  of  a situation  with  gold  in  his  hand,  he  could 
get  nothing.  With  capital,  his  intellectual  culture  would  be 
graciously  overlooked  and  excused.  His  university  educa- 
tion was  such  a drawback,  that  it  could  only  be  forgiven  if 
he  put  money  into  the  concern  where  he  proposed  to  enter. 

Saltren  had  come  to  the  end  of  his  own  resources,  and 
he  saw  that  without  capital  he  could  get  admission  nowhere. 
He  could  not  obtain  a clerkship  in  any  kind  of  business  ; 
the  sole  chance  of  entering  a commercial  life  was  to  be- 
come a partner  in  one. 

There  was  abundance  of  advertisements  for  partners  in 
the  daily  papers,  but  nearly  all  the  businesses,  when  exam- 
ined, proved  unsatisfactory,  and  the  risk  of  losing  all  too 
great.  Giles  Saltren  had,  indeed,  no  capital  of  his  own ; 
but  he  resolved,  should  he  see  a chance  ©f  making  an  in- 
vestment that  was  safe,  and  one  which  would  give  him  work 


480 


ARMINELL. 


in  a partnership,  to  propose  to  his  mother  that  she  should 
in  this  manner  dispose  of  the  purchase-money  for  Chillacot. 
She  would  derive  from  it  an  annual  sum  as  interest,  and 
have  the  satisfaction  as  well  of  knowing  that  she  had  found 
employment  for  her  son. 

At  last  he  found  what  he  sought,  and  sanguine  as  to  the 
results,  he  came  to  his  mother’s  lodgings  to  make  the  pro- 
posal to  her. 

“Please,  Mr.  Saltren,”  said  the  landlady;  “your  mother 
has  gone  out  with  the  admiral.” 

“ The  admiral  ? ” 

“ Ah,  the  admiral,  sir  ! ” said  the  landlady,  with  a know- 
ing smile.  “ You  don’t  mean  to  say,  Mr.  Saltren,  that  your 
mother  hasn’t  told  you  ? and  a beautiful  breakfast  spread, 
and  a cake  with  a cupid  at  top  all  made  of  sugar.” 

“ But  what  admiral  ? we  know  no  admiral ! ” 

“ What,  not  Admiral  Tubb  ? Well  now,  Mr.  Saltren, 
who  would  have  thought  your  mother  would  have  been  so 
sly  as  not  to  have  told  you  that  she  was  going  to  give  you  a 
new  pa  ? ” 

“ Upon  my  word,  I do  not  understand  you.” 

“Then,  Mr.  Saltren,  you  come  along  with  me,  and  see 
the  breakfast  laid  in  the  dining-room,  and  the  beautiful 
wedding-cake  all  over  orange-flowers.  It  does  seem  sharp 
work  too,  when  your  father  died  so  very  recently ; but  if 
widows  don’t  seize  the  moments  as  they  fly,  and  take  ad- 
mirals by  the  forelock,  they  may  be  left  in  their  weeds  till  it 
is  too  late.  Why,  bless  me,  Mr.  Saltren,  here  they 
come ! ” 

“ But,”  persisted  Jingles,  much  astonished,  and  almost 
persuaded  that  Mrs.  Bankes,  the  lodging-house-keeper,  had 
gone  off  her  head,  “ what  admiral  ? ” 

“Admiral  Tubb,  sir,  R.N.  Your  mother  told  me  so. 
There  they  are.  Lawk,  sir ! he  in  lavender  don’t-mention- 
ems  and  yaller  gloves ; and  she  is  in  a beautiful  Brussels 


ARMINELL.  48 1 

veil  that  must  have  cost  ten  pounds,  and  the  cabby  wearing 
of  a favour.’, 

Into  the  house  sailed  Mrs.  Saltren — Saltren  no  more,  but 
Tubb — with  a long  white  veil  over  her  head,  and  orange- 
blossoms  in  her  hand,  wearing  a grey  silk  gown.  Captain 
Tubb  advanced  with  her  on  his  arm,  and  looked  red  and 
sheepish. 

“ My  child,”  said  Marianne,  “come  and  salute  your  new 
father.  This  distinguished  officer — I mean,”  she  hesitated 
and  corrected  herself,  “Bartholomew  Tubb  has  prevailed 
on  me  to  lay  aside  my  widow’s  cap  for  the  bridal-veil.  And, 
oh  ! my  Giles,  you  will  be  pleased  to  hear  that  the  capital 
I got  through  the  sale  of  Chillacot  is  to  be  sunk  in  the  old 
quarry,  and  me  and  the  admiral — I mean  Tubb — are  going 
to  join  hands  and  pump  the  water  out” 


CHAPTER  LI. 


A PATCH  OF  BLUE  SKY. 

About  the  same  time  that  Jingles  was  situation-hunting, 
Arminell  was  engaged  in  house-hunting.  She  had  made  up 
her  mind  to  take  a cottage  on  the  ^outh  coast.  Mrs.  Welsh 
had,  at  length,  got  a cook  who  did  passably.  She  had  fits 
occasionally  and  frothed  at  the  mouth  ; she  also  kicked  out 
with  her  legs  convulsively  on  these  occasions  and  kicked 
over  every  little  table  near  her,  regardless  of  what  was  on  it 
— a glass  custard-dish,  a sugar-bowl,  or,  indeed,  anything 
smashable.  However,  between  her  fits  she  was  a good 
plain  cook,  and  the  fits  did  not  come  on  every  day.  When 
they  did,  Mrs.  Welsh  telegraphed  to  her  husband  to  dine  at 
a restaurant,  and  she  satisfied  herself  on  scraps.  Conse- 
quently, the  inconvenience  was  not  serious,  and  as  cooks 
are  rare  as  capercailzies,  Mrs.  Welsh  was  glad  to  have  one 
even  with  the  disadvantage  of  epileptic  attacks. 

Mr.  Welsh  placed  himself  and  his  time  at  the  service  of 
Arminell.  He  went  with  her  to  Brighton,  St.  Leonards, 
Worthing,  Littlehampton,  Bournemouth ; and  finally  Ar- 
minell decided  on  purchasing  a small  house  at  the  last- 
named  place — a pretty  villa  among  the  pines,  with  a view 
of  the  sea,  a garden,  a conservatory.  The  girl  had  scruples 
about  troubling  the  journalist  so  much,  but  he  insisted  that 
his  excursions  with  her  gave  him  pleasure,  and  he  did  every- 


ARMINELL.  483 

thing  he  could  for  her,  and  did  it  in  the  most  cheery,  con- 
siderate and  hearty  manner. 

Welsh  was  a shrewd  man  of  business,  and  he  fought  hard 
over  the  terms  before  he  bought,  and  keenly  scrutinised  the 
title. 

Then  ensued  the  furnishing,  and  in  this  Arminell  did  not 
trust  Mr.  Welsh.  His  ambition  was  to  do  all  his  purchases 
cheaply.  He  would  have  ordered  her  sets  for  her  several 
rooms  in  Tottenham  Court  Road,  and  gloried  in  having  got 
them  at  an  extraordinarily  low  figure.  Arminell  took  Mrs. 
Welsh  with  her  when  making  her  purchases ; not  that  she 
placed  any  value  on  that  lady’s  taste,  but  because  she  was 
well  aware  that  Dy  so  doing  she  was  giving  to  her  hostess 
the  richest  treat  she  could  devise.  There  is,  undoubtedly, 
positive  enjoyment  in  spending  money,  and  next  to  the 
pleasure  of  spending  money  oneself,  is  that  of  accompany- 
ing another  shopping  who  spends  money.  After  a day’s 
shopping  and  the  expenditure  of  a good  many  pounds,  un- 
questionably one  feels  morally  elevated.  And  one  is  con- 
scious of  having  done  meritoriously  when  one  acts  as  a goad 
to  a companion,  urging  her  to  more  lavish  outlay,  spurring 
her  on  when  her  heart  fails  at  the  estimation  of  the  cost. 
How  mean  you  think  your  friend  if  she  buys  material  at 
twopence-three-farthings  instead  of  that  which  is  superior  at 
threepence.  How  vehemently  you  impress  on  her  the  mis- 
take of  purchasing  only  five-and-a  half  yards  instead  of  six. 
Margin,  you  urge,  should  always  be  given.  It  is  false  econo- 
my to  cut  your  cloth  too  close.  With  what  rigidity  of 
spinal  marrow  do  you  sit  on  your  ‘tail  chair  and  scorn  the 
woman  on  your  left  who  asks  for  cheaper  Swiss  embroidery 
at  threepence-farthing,  when  your  friend  on  your  right  is 
buying  hers  at  a shilling.  With  what  an  approving  glow  of 
conscience  do  you  smile  when  you  hear  your  companion’s 
bill  reckoned  up  as  over  fifteen  pounds  ; and  then  you 
snatch  the  opportunity  to  secure  a remnant  or  a piece  of 


484 


ARMINELL. 


tarnished  material,  with  a haughty  air,  and  bid  that  it  be 
put  in  with  the  rest — it  will  serve  for  a charity  in  which  you 
are  interested  : to  wit — but  you  do  not  add  this — the 
charity  that  begins  and  ends  with  home. 

Next  to  the  enjoyment  of  shopping  with  a friend,  who  is 
lavish  of  her  money,  comes  the  luxury  of  discussing  the 
purchases  after,  of  debating  whether  this  stamped  velvet 
was,  after  all,  the  right  thing,  and  whether  that  tapestry  silk 
would  not  have  been  better ; whether  the  carpet  and  the 
curtains  will  harmonise,  and  the  paper  for  *the  wall  accord 
with  both. 

It  was  a disappointment  to  Mrs.  Welsh  that  Arminell  did 
not  have  a dado  with  water-reeds  and  sunflowers,  and  storks 
flying  or  standing  on  one  leg.  “ It  is  the  fashion,  I assure 
you,”  said  she,  “ as  you  may  see  in  our  drawing-room  at 
Shepherd’s  Bush.”  But  then,  it  was  a shock  of  surprise  and 
adoring  admiration  that  came  on  Tryphoena  Welsh,  when, 
after  having  advised  jute  for  curtains  and  sofa-covers,  be- 
cause so  extraordinarily  cheap,  Arminell  had  deliberately 
turned  to  stamped  velvet. 

“ Dear  me  ! ” said  Mrs.  Welsh  to  her  husband  one  night, 
when  they  were  alone,  “ how  you  do  worship  Miss  Inglett. 
Not  that  I’m  jealous.  Far  be  it  from  me,  for  I admire  her 
as  much  as  I love  her ; but  I am  surprised  at  it  in  you — 
and  she  related  to  the  nobility.  It  is  inconsistent,  Welsh, 
with  your  professions,  as  inconsistent  as  it  would  be  for  Mr. 
Spurgeon  to  be  found  crossing  himself  in  a Roman  Catholic 
chapel.” 

“ My  dear  Tryphoena,”  said  James  Welsh,  “ I do  not  deny 
that  the  British  aristocracy  has  its  good  qualities — for  one, 
its  want  of  stuck-upedness.  For  another,  its  readiness  to 
adapt  itself  to  circumstances.  It  is  part  of  their  education, 
and  it  is  not  part  of  ours,  and  I don’t  pretend  to  that  which 
I have  not  got.  They  used  to  make  wooden  dolls  with  a 
peg  through  their  joints,  sc  that  they  would  move  their 


ARMINELL. 


48s 


limbs  forward  and  backward,  and  that  was  all.  Now  there 
is  another  contrivance  introduced,  the  ball  and  socket 
system  for  the  joints,  and  dolls  can  now  move  their  legs  and 
arms  in  all  directions,  describe  circles  with  them,  do  more 
with  them  than  I can  with  mine.  It  is  the  same  with  the 
faculties  of  the  aristocracy,  there  is  a flexibility  and  a 
pliability  in  them  that  shows  they  are  on  the  ball  and  socket 
system,  and  not  upon  the  peg  arrangement.  I don’t  mean 
to  say  that  there  are  not  to  be  found  elsewhere  faculties  so 
variable  and  adaptable,  but  it  is  exceptional  elsewhere ; 
among  the  upper  classes  the  whole  educational  system  is 
directed  towards  making  the  menial  joints  revolve  in  their 
sockets,  and  getting  rid  of  all  woodenness  and  pegishness. 
Look  at  Miss  Inglett.  She  was  ready  to  be  just  what  you 
wanted — cook,  nurse,  butler,  seamstress — and  yet  never  for 
a second  has  ceased  to  be  what  she  is,  a tip-top  lady.” 

“ You  talk,  James,  in  a different  way  from  what  you  used 
to  talk.” 

“ I’ll  tell  you  what  stands  in  the  way  with  us.  Even  if 
we  be  gifted  with  faculties  on  the  ball  and  socket  system, 
we  are  afraid  of  using  them  except  as  is  allowed  by  fashion, 
and  is  supposed  to  be  elegant.  We  are  ever  considering 
whether  we  shall  not  lose  respect  if  we  employ  them  in  this 
way,  set  them  at  that  angle,  fold  them  in  such  a manner, 
turn  them  about  in  such  another.  I know  once,”  continued 
Mr.  Welsh,  “ I had  burst  my  boot  over  the  toe,  just  before 
I went  for  an  important  interview  with  an  editor.  I cut  a 
sorry  figure  in  his  presence,  because  I was  considering  the 
hole  in  my  boot,  and  whether  my  stocking  showed  through. 
I put  my  foot  under  the  chair  as  far  back  as  I could,  then 
drew  it  forward  and  set  the  other  foot  on  it.  Then  I hid  it 
behind  my  hat,  then  curled  it  over  in  an  ungainly  fashion, 
so  as  to  expose  only  the  sole ; and  all  the  while  I was  with 
the  editor,  I had  no  thought  for  what  we  were  talking  about; 
I could  not  take  my  attention  from  the  hole  in  my  boot. 


486 


ARMINELL. 


And  it  is  the  same  with  us  who  haven’t  an  all-round  and 
complete  culture — we  are  conscious  of  burst  seams,  and 
splits,  and  exposures,  and  are  anxious  to  be  screening  them, 
and  so  are  never  at  our  ease.” 

When  Mr.  Welsh  began  to  talk,  he  liked  to  talk  on 
uninterruptedly.  His  wife  knew  this,  and  humoured  him. 

“ Connected  with  this  subject,  Tryphoena,  is  the  way  in 
which  the  aristocracy  manage  their  trains.” 

“ Their  trains,  James?” 

“ Exactly — their  trains  or  skirts.  You  know  how  that  it 
is  not  possible  for  you  to  be  in  a crowd  without  having 
your  skirts  trodden  on  and  ripped  out  of  the  gathers. 
There  used  to  be  a contrivance,  Tryphoena,  I remember  you 
had  it  once,  like  a pair  of  bell-ropes.  You  put  your  fingers 
into  rings,  and  up  came  your  train  in  a series  of  loops  and 
folds,  on  the  principle  of  the  Venetian  blind.  But  some- 
how you  were  always  pulling  up  your  skirt  just  too  late, 
after  it  had  been  be-trampled  and  be-muddled.  Now  from 
what  I have  observed,  the  skirts  and  trains  of  the  aristocracy 
are  imbued  with  an  imparted  vitality  from  t;  eir  persons,  for 
all  the  world  like  the  tail  of  a peacock,  which  it  elevates 
when  it  steps  about  in  the  dirt.  Their  skirts  shrink  and 
rise  of  themselves,  whenever  a rude  foot  approaches,  or 
they  tread  where  the  soil  may  bespatter.” 

“Now,  really,  James — how  can  human  b ings  lift  their 
tails?” 

“ My  dear,  I am  speaking  figuratively.  If  you  do  not 
understand — remain  in  ignorance.  There  is,  as  the  clown 
says  in  ‘Twelfth  Night,’  no  darkness  like  ignorance.  I 
suppose  you  know,  my  dear,  what  it  is  to  be  pressed  upon 
and  trampled  on  by  those  just  behind  you  in  the  social 
ball?  Well,  some  persons  manage  so  cleverly  that  they  do 
not  get  their  trains  crumpled ; and  others  are  in  constant 
alarm  and  suspicion  of  everyone  who  approaches  within  a 
pace  of  theirs.” 


ARMINELL. 


487 


Welsh  lighted  a cigar. 

“Don’t  you  mistake  me  and  think  that  I have  given  up 
my  opinions,  Nothing  of  the  sort.  I notice  the  difference 
between  the  aristocracy  and  ourselves,  but  I do  not  say  that 
I do  not  estimate  the  middle  class  above  theirs.  On  the 
contrary,  I think  our  order  of  the  nobility  is  the  most 
honourable.  To  us  belongs  the  marquisate.” 

“James,  how  can  you  talk  such  nonsense?  ” 

“ It  is  a fact,  Tryphoena,  that  the  marquis  or  margrave 
takes,  or  rather  took,  his  title  from  the  debatable  ground  he 
held.  He  was  the  earl  who  watched  the  marches  against 
the  barbarians ; he  protected  civilization  from  overthrow. 
It  was  because  he  stood  with  drawn  sword  on  the  confines, 
armed  cap-a-pie , that  the  counts  and  viscounts  and  the 
barons  sat  in  clover  at  home  and  grew  fat  and  wanton. 
We,  Tryphoena,  guard  the  march' s,  we  occupy  the  debatable 
ground,  and  we  have  to  be  perpetually  on  the  alert,  to  make 
blaze  of  beacons,  blow  cow’s-horns,  and  rattle  drums  at  the 
least  approach  or  signs  of  approach  of  barbarism.  Of 
course  we  are  touchy,  tenacious  of  our  right,  sensitive  about 
our  skirts,  and  must  bluster  and  deal  blows  to  protect  them. 
We  hold  the  banat,  the  military  frontier  between  culture 
and  savagery,  and  it  is  because  of  us  that  the  noblemen 
and  gentlemen  of  England  can  dwell  at  home  at  ease.  Of 
course  our  hands  are  rough  with  grip  of  the  lance  and 
sword,  and  our  boots  smell  of  the  stable.  Heigh-ho  ! — here 
comes  my  Lady  Fair — and  not  looking  herself.” 

He  stood  up,  and  threw  away  his  cigar  into  the  grate  and 
then  went  to  the  window  and  threw  up  the  sash.  Arminell 
entered  in  her  bonnet ; her  face  was  sad,  and  her  eyes  were 
red  as  though  she  had  been  crying. 

“ Miss  Inglett ! I shall  kill  myself  for  having  lit  a cigar,” 
said  Welsh,  “ I am  vexed  beyond  measure.  I did  not 
think  you  were  going  to  favour  us  with  your  company.  As 
for  Tryphoena,  she  loves  smoke  as  a salamander  loves  fire. 


*88 


ARMINELL. 


But — what  is  the  matter?  You  remind  me  of  a certain 
river  I have  read  about  in  Bohn’s  translation  of  ‘ Herodotus.’ 
The  river  flowed  sweet  from  its  source  for  many  miles,  but 
finally  a tiny  rill  of  bitterness  entered  it,  and  throughout  the 
rest  of  its  course  to  the  sea  the  waters  had  lost  their  fresh- 
ness.” 

“ Not  so,  Mr.  Welsh,”  said  Arminell  with  a smile.  “ At 
least,  I trust  not.  May  I not  rather  have  reached  the 
point  to  which  the  tide  mounts,  It  is  not  bitterness  that  is 
in  me,  but  just  a smack  of  the  salt  of  the  mighty  far-off 
ocean  that  runs  up  the  estuary  of  life,  and  qualifies  sooner 
or  later  the  water  of  every  soul  ? ” 

“What  has  troubled  you?  I’m  sure  something  has  gone 
wrong.” 

“ I have  been  with  Thomasine  to  see  your  nephew.” 

“ What — Jingles  ! you  should  not  have  done  that.” 

“ Thomasine  had  paid  a visit  to  Mrs.  Bankes,  the  land- 
lady of  the  house  where  Mrs.  Saltren  lodged  before  she 
married  and  departed ; and  the  good  woman  told  the  girl 
something  about  Mr.  Saltren  that  made  me  uneasy.  So  I 
went  to  see  him.” 

“ You  have  acted  inconsiderately,”  said  James  Welsh. 

“ I do  not  say  that  it  was  a proper  and  prudent  thing  to 
do,  and  yet,  under  the  circumstances,  justifiable,  and  I 
have  no  doubt  you  will  forgive  me.” 

“You  must  make  a full  confession  before  I pronounce 
the  absolution,”  said  the  journalist. 

“ Thomasine  goes  occasionally  to  see  the  good  woman  of 
the  lodgings  and  her  servant,  and  she  heard  so  sad  an 
account  of  your  nephew  that  she  communicated  it  to  me.” 

“ What  is  the  matter  with  him  ? I have  not  seen  the 
cock-sparrow  for  three  months,  and  what  is  more,  I do  not 
want  to  see  him ; I can  never  forgive  him  for  what  he  has 
done.” 

“He  knows  how  you  regard  him,  and  that  is  the  reason 


ARMINELL.  489 

why  he  has  not  been  to  see  you,  and  told  you  how  he  was 
situated.” 

“ But — what  has  happened  ? Has  he  been  run  over  at 
crossing  ? He  is  fool  enough  for  even  that  to  befall  him.” 

“ No,  Mr.  Welsh  ; I will  tell  you  all  I know,  and  then  you 
will  think  more  kindly  and  judge  more  leniently  of  Mr. 
Saltren.  The  landlady  spoke  to  Thomasine  because  she 
was  uneasy  about  him,  and  she  is  a good-hearted  creature. 
It  seems  that  when  Mrs.  Saltren  married,  Mr.  Saltren  was 
left  without  any  means  whatever.” 

“ He  had  plenty  of  money.  He  sold  Chillacot.” 

“ He  made  over  the  whole  proceeds  to  his  mother.  She 
has  not  left  him  a penny  of  it.  From  what  I learn,  she  has 
given  it  to  Captain  Tubb  to  invest  for  her  in  a water-wheel 
and  a pump.” 

“ Marianne  is  fool  enough  for  anything — except  to  speak 
the  truth.  What  next  ? ” 

“ After  she  had  departed  as  Mrs.  Tubb,  your  nephew 
wras  left  absolutely  without  resources.  He  did  everything 
that  lay  in  his  power  to  obtain  a situation,  first  in  one 
capacity,  then  in  another.  He  even — he  even  ” — Ar- 
minell’s  voice  quivered — “ he  even  offered  himself  as  a shop 
assistant  and  was  rejected.  Disappointments,  repeated  day 
by  day  and  week  by  week,  told  on  his  spirits  and  on  his 
health.  As  he  was  without  means,  he  frankly  informed  his 
hostess  about  his  circumstances,  and  asked  for  leave  to 
occupy  an  attic  bedroom,  promising  to  pay  her  directly  he 
got  employment.  She  did  not  like  to  turn  him  out,  and  I 
daresay  she  thought  she  would  get  her  rent  in  the  end  from 
Mrs.  Tubb,  so  she  consented.  But  he  has  been  living  for 
many  weeks  on  nothing  but  bread  and  a little  thin  tea 
without  milk.  He  has  sold  his  books  and  everything  he 
could  part  with,  and  is  now  reduced  to  dire  distress.  He 
goes  out  every  day  in  the  desperate  endeavour  to  find  work,' 
but  his  superior  education,  and  his  gentlemanly  feelings 


490 


ARMINELL. 


stand  in  his  way.  Now  his  health  is  failing,  he  looks  too 
delicate  for  work,  and  no  one  will  have  him  on  that  account. 
He  does  not  complain.  He  goes  on  trying,  but  his  daily 
disappointments  have  broken  his  spirit.  It  does  seem  a 
hopeless  venture  for  a man  of  good  education  and  excep- 
tional abilities  to  find  work  in  London.” 

“ Sans  interest,”  added  Welsh.  “ Of  old,  interest  was  in 
the  hands  of  the  upper  classes.  Now  it  is  in  the  hands  of 
the  lower.” 

“ I heard  a good  deal  of  this  from  Thomasine,”  continued 
Arminell.  “ I could  not  bear  it.  I ran  off  to  Bloomsbury  to 
see  Mrs.  Bankes,  and  found  her  to  be  a very  kind,  feeling, 
and  willing  woman.  She  told  me  everything — how  und  r- 
fed  Mr.  Saltren  was,  how  thin  and  shabby  his  clothes  had 
become,  what  a bad  cough  he  had  got,  and  how  long  it  was 
since  she  had  been  paid  for  her  lodging.” 

“ I made  sure  Mrs.  Bankes  would  not  omit  to  mention 
that.” 

“ She  is  a most  considerate  woman.  She  said  she  had 
done  him  an  egg  of  late,  every  morning,  and  charged  him 
nothing  for  it,  though  eggs  are  at  nine  for  a shilling,  and  he 
had  had  sixteen  in  all ; so  that  she  was,  as  she  said,  beside 
the  cost  of  his  lodging,  nearly  two  shillings  to  the  bad 
through  these  eggs — but  she  is  a good  honest  soul,  she  told 
me  he  had  worn  out  the  soles  of  his  boots,  and  could  not 
afford  a new  pair,  and  they  let  in  the  wet.”  Arminell 
stopped,  she  was  choking. 

Presently  she  went  on,  “ Whilst  we  were  talking,  he  came 
in  at  the  house  door,  and  I heard  him  cough  ; and  then  he 
went  upstairs,  with  his  hand  on  the  bannisters,  dragging  his 
tired  feet  and  his  springless  weight  up  the  steep  steps.  He 
halted  at  each  landing  ; he  was  weary  and  his  breath  failed. 
I listened  till  he  had  reached  the  very  top  of  the  house,  and 
gone  into  his  little  attic-room  where  he  sleeps,  and  reads, 
and  eats,  and  dreams  over  his  disappointments.” 


ARMINELL.  49 1 

She  stopped.  She  had  clasped  her  hands  on  her  lap,  and 
was  twisting,  plaiting,  and  pulling  her  fingers. 

“ Then  you  came  away  to  tell  me,”  said  Mr.  Welsh. 

“ No,  I did  not.” 

“ What  next  ? ” 

“ My  heart  was  full.  I went  out  into  the  lobby  and  stood 
there,  and  I began  to  cry.  And  then,  all  at  once,  I ran 
upstairs.” 

“ What— to  his  room  ? ” 

“ Yes — I went  after  him,  I could  not  help  it.  He  was  so 
utterly  lonely  and  so  unhappy.  Mrs.  Bankes  said  that  no 
one  ever  came  to  see  him,  he  had  no  friends.  It  is  dread- 
ful to  think  of  being  alone  in  London  for  months  without 
any  one  to  speak  to,  that  is,  any  one  who  feels  for  you,  and 
knows  about  persons  and  things  and  places  you  have  loved. 
I ran  upstairs  after  him,  and  tapped  at  his  door,  and  dashed 
right  in  on  him.” 

The  colour  rose  and  fell  on  her  cheek. 

“ I should  have  been  happy  for  the  occasion  to  have  a 
talk  with  him,  only  the  circumstances  were  so  sad.  My 
heart  came  into  my  throat  when  I saw  him,  and  I held  out  my 
hand  to  him — no,  in  honour  bright — I held  out  both  hands 
to  him.  He  was  surprised.  I sat  down  there  and  made 
him  tell  me  everything.  He  did  not  complain,  he  was  very 
brave,  but  he  had  lost  hope,  and  he  plodded  on  as  in  a 
treadmill,  trying  for  work  because  it  was  a duty  to  seek  it, 
not  because  he  was  sanguine  of  getting  it.  I do  not  know 
how  long  I was  there ; I insisted  on  having  tea  with  him, 
and  quite  a nice  little  tea  we  had,  and  a chop — no,  two 
chops  with  it.  I ordered  them,  and  I would  have  them, 
and,  of  course,  Mrs.  Bankes  brought  up  Worcester  sauce  as 
well.  Who  ever  knew  a lodging-house  without  Worcester 
sauce  ? I am  obstinate  when  I take  an  idea  into  my  head. 
You  know  that.  He  was  quite  happy,  I do  believe, 
happier  than  he  has  been  for  months,  sitting  there  with  me, 


492 


ARMINELL. 


taking  tea,  and  milk  in  the  tea,  and  talking  about  old  times, 
and  Orleigh — dear  Orleigh  ! — and  my  brother  Giles  and 
papa.”  Her  heart  was  beating  fast,  so  fast  that  it  stopped 
her  flow  of  words. 

Mr.  Welsh  said  nothing,  nor  did  Mrs.  Welsh,  who  looked 
at  her  husband  questioningly,  and  then  at  Arminell. 

“ Once  or  twice  I made  him  laugh,  and  the  colour  came 
again  into  his  white  face,  and  the  brightness  into  his  dull 
eyes.  But  when  he  laughed  it  brought  on  a fit  of  cough- 
ing.” 

“Why  did  not  the  fellow  come  to  me  ?”  asked  Welsh. 
“ I have  no  patience  with  his  pride — it  was  nothing  but 
pride  which  kept  him  away.” 

“ Self-respect,  perhaps,  and  resolve  to  make  a way  foi 
himself  if  possible.  You  had  discouraged  him  from  at- 
tempting literature,  and  he  had  lost  all  faith  in  politics.  Be- 
sides, he  kept  away  from  this  house  because  I was  in  it,  and 
he  felt  he  had  no  right  to  come  here  whilst  I lived  with  you.” 

She  began  again  to  plait  her  fingers,  and  looked  down  at 
them  with  a little  confusion  in  her  face.  Presently  she 
looked  at  the  miniature  of  the  marine  officer,  Mrs.  Welsh’s 
father,  and  said,  with  a laugh,  “ Do  you  know,  Mr.  Welsh, 
that  Mrs.  Saltren  imposed  on  the  landlady,  and  made  her 
believe  that  she  was  going  to  marry  an  Admiral  of  the  Blue. 
When  Mrs.  Bankes  found  out  the  truth,  Mrs.  Saltren,  I mean 
Mrs.  Tubb,  said  she  had  heard  men-of-war  so  constantly 
spoken  of  as  tubs,  and  nothing  but  tubs,  and  as  her  husband 
was  a Tubb,  she  considered  she  had  a right  to  speak  of 
him  as  a naval  officer.  It  is  a shame  to  tell  the  story, 
but ” 

“ It  is  too  good  not  to  be  told.  Marianne  all  over.” 

“ And,  Mr.  Welsh,  there  was  a doctor  lodging  on  the 
first  floor  at  Mrs.  Bankes’,  and  he  happened  to  see  your 
nephew  on  the  stairs,  and  hear  him  cough,  so  he  made  him 
step  into  his  room  and  he  examined  his  chest.” 


ARMINELL. 


493 


“ What  did  he  say  ? ” 

“ That  there  was  constitutional  delicacy,  and  that  unless 
he  went  for  a couple  of  winters  to  the  south  of  Europe,  and 
after  that  wintered  at  Penzance,  Torquay,  or  Bournemouth, 
he  would  be  a dead  man.  But,  if  he  took  proper  care  of 
himself  and  lived  well,  drank  cod-liver  oil  and  old  port,  kept 
out  of  east  winds  and  from  getting  wet,  he  might  yet  make 
old  bones.” 

“That  is  out  of  the  question,”  said  Welsh;  “ he  shall 
have  De  Jongh’s  cod-liver  oil,  and  inhale  carbolic  acid,  and 
wear  Dr.  Jaeger’s  all-wool — to  go  to  the  south  of  Europe  is 
impracticable.’’ 

“ Not  at  all.” 

“ My  dear  Miss  fnglett,  not  another  word.  I will  do  all 
I can  for  the  rascal.  But  I c^mot  afford  that.” 

“ But  I can.” 

“ I won’t  allow  it.  I am  very  sorry  for  the  boy,  and  will 
do  my  duty  by  him  as  his  uncle ; but  I can’t  send  him  to 
the  Riviera.” 

“ But  it  is  settled  that  he  is  going.” 

“How?  When?” 

“ Directly,  and  with  me.” 

“Nonsense,  Miss  Inglett.” 

“ And  I have  a house  at  Bournemouth.” 

“ That  is  true  ; but ” 

“ But  I am  going  to  marry  him,  so  as  to  be  able  to  nurse 
him  and  carry  him  off  to  Bordighera,  and  give  him  De 
Jongh’s  cod-liver  oil  myself.” 

“ Miss  Inglett,  in  reason  ! ” 

“ It  is  settled.  I settled  it.  I have  paid  Mrs.  Bankes 
for  the  eggs  and  all  the  rest.  When  we  are  off  together  we 
can  talk  at  our  leisure  about  Orleigh.” 


CHAPTER  LI I. 


ON  DIPPERS. 

Sir  Joshua  Reynolds,  in  his  treatise  on  the  composition 
of  a picture,  lays  down  as  a necessity  that  a patch  of  blue 
sky  should  be  introduced  into  every  painting,  an  opening 
through  which  the  eye  may  escape  out  of  the  constraint  and 
gloom  of  the  canvas.  Tf  the  subject  be  a dungeon,  in  one 
corner  must  be  a window  through  which  the  eye  can  mount 
to  heaven  ; if  a forest,  there  must  be  a gap  in  the  foliage 
through  which  the  sun  may  strike  and  the  free  air  blow.  It 
a landscape  under  a grey  canopy,  or  a storm  at  sea  under 
rolling  thunder  clouds,  there  must  be  a rift  somewhere 
through  which  the  upper  azure  gleams ; otherwise  the 
picture  oppresses  and  the  frame  cramps,  For  this  reason, 
the  preceding  chapter  was  entitled  “ A Patch  of  Blue  Sky,” 
for  in  that  chapter  a small  opening  was  made  quite  in  a 
corner,  into  that  serene  and  super-terrestrial,  that  ethereal 
and  sublime  realm — matrimony. 

For  a good  many  chapters  our  hero  and  heroine  have 
been  in  a poor  way,  inhaling  London  smoke,  without  sun- 
shine enlivening  their  existences.  From  Orleigh  Park  to 
Shepherd’s  Bush,  and  from  the  elastic  atmosphere  of  the 
countiy  to  the  fogs  of  the  metropolis,  is  a change  which, 
considering  the  altered  conditions  of  both — Jingles  with  mt 
a situation,  living  on  bread  and  thin  tea,  and  Armin  11 


ARMINELL. 


495 


without  a home,  living  with  third-rate  people — was  depress- 
ing to  both,  and  the  picture  was  overcharged  with  shadows. 
Therefore  a little  glimpse  has  been  given  into  that  heaven 
to  which  all  youthful  and  inexperienced  novel-readers 
aspire. 

Sir  Joshua  Reynolds,  moreover,  insists  on  a proper 
balance  of  lights  and  shadows.  He  says  that  it  is  false  art 
to  accumulate  dark  spots  on  one  side  of  a picture  without 
relieving  them  with  a corresponding  number  of  luminous 
foci  on  the  other.  Now  in  this  story  the  reader  has  been 
given -three  deaths.  Therefore,  there  must  needs  be  the 
same  number  of  marriages  to  produce  equilibrium.  Accord- 
ingly, over  against  the  dark  points  of  Archelaus  Tubb,  Lord 
Lamerton,  and  Captain  Saltren,  we  set  off  the  bright  com- 
binations of  Samuel  and  Joan,  of  Captain  Tubb  and 
Marianne,  and  of  Arminell  and  Jingles.  These  are  not,  it 
is  true,  spots  of  transcendent  brilliancy,  double  stars  of  the 
first  order,  but  of  subdued  and  chastened  effulgence.  Not 
many  roses  crowned  the  hymeneal  altar  of  Sam  Ceely,  nor 
would  an  impassioned  epithalamium  suit  the  nuptials  of 
Mrs.  Saltren,  just  recovered  from  a touch  of  paralysis.  Nor 
will  the  beaker  of  ecstatic  love  brim  over  at  the  union  of 
Arminell  and  Giles  Saltren,  seeing  that  it  is  largely  filled 
with  De  Jongh’s  cod-liver  oil.  When  a cook  has  over-salted 
the  soup,  he  mixes  whit£  sugar  with  it,  and  this  neutralises 
the  brine  and  gives  the  soup  a mellowness,  and  velvety 
softness  to  the  palate.  On  the  same  principle,  having  put 
too  many  tears  into  this  tale,  I am  shaking  in  the  hymeneal 
sugar  in  just  proportions. 

I know  very  well  I am  letting  the  reader  into  the  secrets 
of  construction,  telling  the  tricks  of  the  trade,  but  as  this 
narrative  is  written  for  instruction  as  well  as  for  amusement, 
I do  not  scruple  thus  to  indicate  one  of  the  principles  of  the 
art  of  novel  writing  ; and  I do  this  with  purpose,  to  gain 
the  favour  of  the  reader,  who  I fear  is  a little  ruffled  and 


496 


ARMINELL. 


resentful,  because  I do  not  give  a full  and  particular  account 
of  the  marriage.  But  it  really  hardly  merited  such  an 
account,  it  was  celebrated  so  quietly — without  choral  song 
and  train  of  bride’s-maids,  and  without  peal  of  bells.  I am 
so  much  afraid  that  by  omitting  to  make  a point  of  the 
marriage  I may  offend  my  readers  that  I have  let  them  into 
one  of  the  secrets  of  the  construction  of  a plot. 

Among  poor  people  a bottle  of  lemon-drops  is  set  on  the 
table,  and  the  children  are  given  bread  to  eat.  Those  little 
ones  whose  conduct  has  been  indifferent  are  allowed  only 
bread  and  point  for  a meal,  but  those  who  have  behaved 
well  are  permitted  to  enjoy  bread  and  rub.  To  their  imagi- 
nations some  of  the  sweetness  of  the  lollipops  penetrates 
the  glass  and  adheres  to  their  slices. 

A novel  is  the  intellectual  meal  of  a good  many  readers, 
and  it  begins  with  bread  and  point,  and  is  expected  to  end 
with  bread  and  rub  at  the  acidulated  drops  of  connubial 
felicity.  Usually  the  reader  has  to  consume  a great  deal  of 
bread  and  point  and  is  only  allowed  bread  and  rub  in 
final  chapters.  In  this  story,  however,  I have  been 
generous,  I have  allowed  of  three  little  frettings  at  the  bottle 
instead — indeed,  instead  of  keeping  one  tantalising  bottle 
before  the  eyes  of  the  reader,  I have  set  three  on  the  table 
in  front  of  him. 

That  I have  transgressed  the  rule  which  requires  the 
marriage  of  hero  and  heroine  to  be  at  the  end  of  the  book, 
in  the  very  last  chapter,  I freely  admit ; but  I have  done 
this  on  purpose,  and  I have,  for  the  same  purpose,  most 
slyly  slipped  in  the  marriage,  or  rather  left  it  to  the  imagi- 
nation, between  the  end  of  Chapter  LI.  and  the  beginning  of 
Chapter  LII.  And  what  do  you  suppose  is  my  reason  ? It 
is,  that  I want  to  dodge  the  dippers.  The  dippers  are  those 
readers  who  are  only  by  an  euphemism  called  readers. 
They  stand  by  the  course  of  a story,  and  pop  a beak  down 
into  it  every  now  and  then,  and  bring  up  something  from 


ARMINELL. 


497 


the  current,  and  then  fly  away  pretending  that  they  have 
read  the  whole  story.  The  dipper  generally  plunges  the 
bill  into  the  first  chapter,  then  dips  into  the  last  of  the  i hree 
volumes,  and  then  again  once  or  twice  in  the  mid-stream  of 
the  tale. 

These  dippers  are  gorgeous  creatures,  arrayed  in  gold  and 
azure,  with  bejewelled  necks  and  wings  and  crowns.  But 
in  one  matter  they  differ  from  all  other  fowl — they  have  no 
gizzards.  Other  birds,  notably  those  of  the  barn  door,  when 
they  eat  pass  their  food  through  a pair  of  internal  grind- 
stones, and  thoroughly  digest  and  assimilate  it.  The 
dippers,  being  devoid  of  this  organ,  neither  digest  nor 
assimilate  anything.  They  take  nothing  into  them  for  the 
purpose  of  nutrition,  but  for  the  taste  it  leaves  on  their 
tongues.  Consequently,  the  food  they  like  best  is  not  that 
which  invigorates,  but  that  which  is  high  flavoured. 

A dipper  may  seem  very  small  game  at  which  to  fire  a 
shot,  but  the  dippers  are  the  special  aversion  of  novel 
writers.  These  latter  have  laboured  to  please,  perhaps  to 
instruct ; they  have  worked  with  their  pens  till  their  fingers 
are  cramped,  and  their  brains  bemuzzed,  and  they  see  the 
fruit  of  conscientious  toil  treated  as  a bird  treats  a nectarine 
— pecked  at  and  spoiled,  not  eaten. 

But  I have  headed  this  chapter  “ On  Dippers,”  not  be- 
cause I intended  to  blaze  at  those  little  frivolous,  foolish 
birds  who  dip  into  my  story  and  let  all  they  scoop  up  dribble 
from  their  beaks  again,  but  because  I have  another  class  of 
dippers  in  my  eye,  about  whom  I have  still  sharper  words  to 
say.  And  see  ! — one  of  this  order  has  unexpectedly  dropped 
in  on  the  Welshes — and  that  is  Mrs.  Cribbage. 

The  Reverend  Mrs.  Cribbage  was  not  one  of  the  king- 
fishers, but  was  a dipper  of  the  cormorant  or  skua  genus. 
She  was  not  one  to  stand  by  the  stream  of  a story  and  dip 
in  that,  but  in  the  sea  of  life,  and  seek  in  that  for  savoury 
meat  over  which  to  snap  the  bill,  and  smack  the  tongue,  and 


498 


ARMINELL. 


turn  up  the  eyes,  and  distend  the  jaw-pouches.  The  dippers 
of  this  order  congregate  on  a rock  above  the  crystal  tide  and 
chatter  with  their  beaks,  whilst  their  eyes  pierce  the  liquid 
depths.  They  have  no  perceptions  of  the  beauty  of  colour 
in  the  water,  no  admiration  for  its  limpidity.  They  inhale 
with  relish  none  of  the  ozone  that  wafts  over  it — their  eyes 
explore  for  blubber,  for  uproot  d weed,  for  mollusks  that 
have  been  bruised,  for  dead  fish,  for  crustaceans  that  have 
lost  limbs,  for  empty  shells  invaded  by  parasites,  for  the 
scum,  and  the  waste,  and  the  wreckage,  in  the  mighty 
storm-tossed  ocean  of  life. 

Aristotle,  in  his  ‘ History  of  Animals/  says  that  most  fish 
avoid  what  is  putrescent ; but  the  taste  of  the  dippers  is 
other  than  that  of  the  fish.  The  dippers  have  no  perception 
and  liking  for  the  freshness  and  fragrance  of  the  sea,  but 
have  vastly  keen  noses  for  carrion.  The  suffering  whiting, 
the  crushed  nautilus,  the  disabled  shrimp,  are  pounced  on 
with  avidity,  and  the  great  penguin-pouch  expands  under 
the  beak  like  a Gladstone  bag  full  of  the  most  varied  forms 
of  misery,  of  sorrow  and  of  nastiness. 

The  skua  is  a dipper  akin  to,  but  more  active  than  the 
wary  cormorant  and  the  clumsy  auk.  It  is  a lively  bird,  and 
darts  on  nimble  wing  over  the  sea,  and  when  it  perceives  a 
glutted  dipper  in  flight,  it  dives  under  it,  strikes  it  on  the 
breast,  and  makes  it  disgorge ; whereupon  it  seizes  the  prey 
as  it  falls,  for  itself.  There  are  skuas  as  well  as  cormorants 
about  the  coasts  of  the  great  social  ocean,  and  there  are 
birds  with  the  voracity  of  the  cormorant  and  the  quickness 
and  adoitness  of  the  skua — of  such  was  Mrs.  Cribbage.  It 
was  part  of  her  cleverness  in  getting  the  food  she  required 
to  come  with  a whisk  and  blow  at  those  who  least  expected 
her ; and  such  was  her  visit  or  swoop  on  the  Welshes. 

Unfortunately  for  her,  James  Welsh  was  at  home  when  she 
swept  in,  and  he  was  quite  able  to  hold  his  own  before  her. 

“ My  dear,”  said  he  to  his  wife,  i(  I think  I hear  the  cook 


ARMINELL. 


499 


squealing.  She  is  in  an  epileptic  fit.  You  had  better  go 
down  into  the  kitchen  and  remain  below  as  long  as  the  fit 
lasts.  Get  the  slavey  to  sit  on  her  feet,  and  you  hold  her 
head.  I will  remain  at  the  service  of  Mrs.  Cribbage.  I 
am  sure  she  will  excuse  you.  We  have  an  epileptic  cook, 
ma’am — not  a bad  cook  when  out  of  her  fits.” 

“ I am  Mrs.  Cribbage,”  said  the  visitor,  “ the  wife  of  the 
Rector  of  Orleigh.  We  have  not  had  the  pleasure  of  meeting 
before,  but  I know  your  sister,  Mrs.  Tubb,  very  well ; she 
is  a parishioner  and  the  wife  of  one  of  our  Sunday-school 
teachers.  Of  course  I know  about  you,  Mr.  Welsh,  though 
you  may  not  know  me.” 

“ I have  heard  a good  deal  about  you,  ma’am.” 

“ Through  whom  ? ” asked  the  lady  eagerly. 
il  Through  my  nephew.” 

“ I have  come  to  break  to  you  some  sad  news  about  your 
sister.  Poor  thing,  she  had  a first  seizure  on  the  death  of 
her  first  husband,  and  she  had  a second  immediately  after 
her  return  to  Orleigh  as  a bride.  It  was  kept  quiet.  I was 
not  told  of  it,  nor  was  my  husband  sent  for.  Now  a third 
has  ensued  which  has  bereft  her  of  speech,  and  it  is  feared 
will  end  fatally.  I have  come  to  town  for  some  purchases 
and  on  a visit  to  friends,  and  I thought  it  would  be  kind  and 
wise  if  I came  to  see  you  and  tell  you  what  I knew.” 

“ Very  kind  indeed,  ma’am.” 

“ I promised  Captain  Tubb  that  I would  do  so ; he  is  not 
a great  hand  at  letter  writing,  and  I said  that  I could  explain 
the  circumstances  so  much  better  by  word  of  mouth  than 
he  could  with  the  pen.  The  case,  I fear,  is  serious.  She 
cannot  speak.” 

“ It  must  indeed  be  serious,  if  Marianne  can’t  speak,”  ob- 
served Welsh  dryly  ; “ I’ll  run  down  to  Orleigh  to-morrow.” 

“ How  is  your  nephew?  Mrs.  Tubb  hadn’t  heard  of  him 
for  three  or  four  months.  I dare  say  anxiety  about  him  has 
brought  on  the  seizure.” 


Soo 


ARMINELL. 


“ My  late  nephew  ? ” Welsh  heaved  a sigh.  tf  Poor  fellow, 
he  is  gone.  He  always  was  delicate.” 

“ Gone  ! — ” 

“ Yes — to  a warm  place.” 

“ It  is  not  for  us  to  judge,”  said  Mrs.  Cribbage,  sternly. 

“Well,  perhaps  not,”  answered  Welsh;  “but  between 
you  and  me,  ma'am,  for  what  else  was  he  fit  ? ” 

“ I always  considered  that  he  gave  himself  airs,  and  I 
had  an  impression  that  he  indulged  in  free-thinking.  Still, 
he  was  not  positively  vicious.  Nothing  was  proved  against 
his  morals.” 

“ Others  go  to  a warm  place  that  shall  be  nameless,  be- 
sides those  who  are  positively  vicious.” 

“Well,”  said  Mrs.  Cribbage,  “that  is  true,  sadly  true. 
And  now,  to  change  the  topic — how  is  Miss  Inglett  ? Is 
she  still  with  you  ? ” 

“ Miss  Inglett  ? ” Welsh's  eyes  twinkled.  He  knew 
what  the  woman  had  come  to  his  place  for.  It  was  not  out 
of  kindness  to  communicate  to  him  his  sister's  condition. 
He  felt  the  dig  of  the  skua's  beak  in  his  chest. 

“ Oh  yes,  we  know  all  about  it.  Marianne  Tubb  talked 
before  she  had  the  stroke  and  lost  the  power  of  speech. 
You  must  not  suppose,  Mr.  Welsh,  that  we  are  taken  in  and 
believe  that  the  Honourable  Arminell  Inglett  died  as  has 
been  represented,  through  the  shock  caused  by  her  father’s 
fatal  fall.” 

“Ah!  I lemember  seeing  something  about  it  in  the 
papers.  She  died,  did  she  ? ” 

“ No,  no,  Mr.  Welsh,  that  will  not  do.  Your  sister  let 
the  cat  out  of  the  bag.  She  said  that  Miss  Inglett  was 
lodging  here  with  you  ; and  very  boastful  Mr.  Tubb  was 
about  it,  and  much  talk  did  it  occasion  in  Orleigh.  Some 
people  would  not  believe  it,  they  said  that  Marianne  Saltren 
had  been  a liar,  and  Marianne  Tubb  was  no  better.  How- 
ever, others  say  that  there  is  something  in  it.  So,  as  I am 


ARMINELL.  goi 

come  to  town,  I thought  I would  just  run  here  and  enquire, 
and  see  Miss  Inglett  myself.” 

“ We  have  had  an  Inglett  here,  certainly, ” answered 
Welsh,  composedly,  “ and  very  decent  pastry  she  made. 
She  had  a light  hand.” 

“ I do  not  comprehend.” 

“ Are  you  in  want  of  a cook,  a nursemaid,  or  parlour 
maid  ? She  was  a handy  girl,  and  Mrs.  Welsh  would  be 
happy  to  give  her  a good  character — a true  and  honest  one, 
no  reading  between  the  lines,  no  disguising  of  defects. 
She  did  not  drink,  was  not  a lie-abed,  and  was  clean  in  her 
work  and  person.  I won’t  say  whether  she  put  her  fingers 
into  the  sugar,  because  I don’t  know,  and  Mrs.  Welsh 
keeps  the  preserves  and  candied  fruit  locked  up  in  the  side- 
board.” 

“I  do  not  understand,”  said  Mrs.  Cribbage,  gazing  per 
plexedly  at  Mr.  Welsh’s  imperturbable  face. 

“ She  was  a sort  of  general  hand  with  us,”  explained 
Welsh,  “ was  that  girl  Inglett.  We  were  sorry  to  lose  her 
but  she  thought  to  better  herself,  and  we  do  not  give  high 
wages.  We  can’t  afford  to  pay  more  than  twelve  pounds, 
and  no  beer.  But  the  maid  has  the  tea-leaves  and  dripping. 
That  is — she  had  ; but  now  that  we  have  a cook,  the  cook 
arrogates  the  dripping  to  herself.  We  bear  the  young 
woman  no  grudge  for  leaving  us.  It  is  the  way  with  girls, 
they  will  always  be  on  the  move,  and  if  they  can  better 
themselves  by  moving,  why  not?  What  wages  do  you  pay, 
ma’am  ? And  how  about  perquisites  ? ” 

“ You  had  a general  servant  named  Inglett  ? ” 

“ Yes,  and  our  present  housemaid  is  named  Budge. 
Our  cook  is  Mrs.  Winter.  The  last  cook  we  had  drank, 
and  ran  up  a ladder.  It  took  several  policemen  to  get  her 
down.  The  ladder  was  of  extraordinary  height.  It  stood 
in  a builder’s  yard.  It  was  impossible  for  us  to  retain  the 
woman  after  that.  She  had  risen  into  notoriety.  Then, 


502 


ARMINELL. 


for  awhile,  the  girl  Inglett  cooked  for  us ; she  was  not 
brought  up  to  it,  had  never  passed  through  her  apprentice- 
ship as  kitchen-maid,  but  some  women  take  to  cooking  as 
poets  take  to  verses — naturally. ” 

“ That  is  true,”  said  Mrs.  Cribbage.  Her  mouth  was 
gradually  falling  at  the  corners.  She  had  expected  to  fish 
up  a very  queer  and  unpleasant  bit  of  scandal,  and,  to  her 
disappointment,  began  to  see  that  she  had  spooned  up 
cl  an  water  in  her  beak. 

“ Mrs.  Welsh,  seeing  her  abilities,  may  have  advised  the 
girl  Inglett  to  take  a katchen-maid’s  place — I can«ot  say. 
Has  she  applied  to  you  for  such  a situation  in  your  house, 
ma’am  ? If  so,  I am  sure  Mrs.  Welsh  can  confidently  re- 
commend her.” 

“ We  thought,”  said  Mrs.  Cribbage,  in  a tone  of  discour- 
agement, “that  is  to  say,  Mrs.  Tubb  said  most  positively 
that — that  the  Honourable  Arminell  Inglett,  daughter  of 
Lord  Lamerton,  was  not  dead,  but  was  lodging  with 
you.  And  you  really  had  a servant  of  the  name  of 
Inglett  ? 99 

“ Certainly,  a general,  as  I said — and  now  you  mention 
it^  it  dees  seem  queer  that  she  should  have  had  such  an 
ar  stocratic  name,  but  I daresay  she  assumed  it,  as  actresses 

o” 

“ I was  led  by  Marianne  Tubb  to  suppose — ” 

“ Was  not  that  like  Marianne  ! 99  Mr.  Welsh  went  into  a 
fit  of  laughter.  ? Mrs.  Cribbage,  with  a ghastly  smile,  ad- 
mitted that  it  was  like  Marianne  Tubb,  who  was  certainly 
given  to  boasting  and  romancing.  However,  she  added, 
charitably — 

“ Really,  it  almost  seems  a judgment  on  her.” 

“ What  does  ? 99 

a The  stroke.  It  was  too  bad  of  her  to  make  us  suppose 
that  the  Honourable  Arminell  Inglett  had  come  to  live  in 
such  a quarter  as  this.  Then  you  really  believe,  Mr.  Welsh, 


ARMINELL.  503 

that  Lord  Lamerton’s  daughter  died  of  the  shock,  when  she 
heard  of  her  father’s  premature  death  ? ” 

“ I saw  it  so  stated  in  the  papers,  and  they  are  generally 
well  informed.  What  sort  of  a person  was  she  ? I ask 
you,  as  the  Rector’s  wife,  was  she  worldly  ? Was  she  at 
all  prepared  for  the  great  change?” 

Mrs.  Cribbage  shook  her  head. 

“ I was  afraid  it  was  so,”  said  Welsh  solemnly.  “ Then 
I should  not  be  at  all  surprised  if  she  also  had  gone  to  the 
same  warm  place  ^ my  poor  nephew.” 

“ It  is  not  for  us  to  judge,”  said  Mrs.  Cribbage  gravely  ; 
“ still,  if  it  be  permitted  us  to  look  beyond  the  veil,  I would 
not  say  but  that  she  had.  She  was  barely  civil  to  me,  once 
she  was  positively  rude.  Yes — I have  no  doubt  that  she 
also  has  gone — gone — ” 

“ To  the  same  warm  place,”  added  Welsh. 


CHAPTER  LIII. 


ALLAH’S  SLIPPER. 

Having  occupied  an  entire  chapter  with  dippers,  it  may 
seem  to  the  reader  to  be  acting  in  excess  of  what  is  just  to 
revert  in  the  ensuing  chapter  to  the  J&me  topic  ; but  if  we 
mention  dippers  again,  it  is  in  another  sense  altogether. 

In  an  oriental  talc;  a sultan  was  unable  to  conceive  how 
that  a thousand  days  cculd  seem  to  pass  as  a minute,  or  a 
minute  be  expanded  into  a thousand  days.  Then  a 
magician  bade  a pail  of  water  be  brought  into  the  royal 
presence,  and  invited  the  sultan  to  plunge  his  head  into  it. 
He  did  so,  and  at  once  found  himself  translated  to  a strange 
country  where  he  was  destitute  of  the  means  of  life,  and 
was  forced  to  support  existence  by  hard  labour  as  a porter. 
He  married  a wife,  and  became  the  father  of  seven  children, 
after  which  his  wife  died,  and  as  he  was  oppressed  with  old 
age  and  poverty,  he  plunged  into  a river  to  finish  his  woes, 
when — up  came  his  head  out  of  the  pail  of  water.  He 
stormed  at  the  magician  for  having  given  him  such  a life  of 
wretchedness.  “ But,  sire,”  said  the  magician,  “ your 
august  head  has  been  under  water  precisely  three  seconds.” 

Now  I do  not  mean  to  say  that  this  story  is  applicable  to 
my  hero  and  heroine  in  all  its  parts.  I do  not  mean  that 
their  history  and  that  of  the  sultan  fit,  when  one  is  applied 
to  the  other,  as  do  the  triangles  a b c and  d e f in  the 


ARMINELL. 


505 


fourth  proposition  of  the  First  Book  of  Euclid,  but  only 
that  there  is  a resemblance.  Both  Giles  Saltren  and  Armi- 
nell  had,  as  the  expression  goes,  got  their  heads  under 
water,  and  having  got  them  there,  found  themselves  begin- 
ning a new  career,  in  a fresh  place  of  existence,  with  fresh 
experiences  to  make  and  connections  to  form.  The  past 
4 was  to  both  cut  away  as  if  it  had  never  been,  and,  unlike 
this  sultan,  there  was  no  prospect  of  their  getting  their 
heads  up  again  into  their  former  life.  They  must,  there- 
fore, make  the  best  they  could  of  that  new  life  in  which 
they  found  themselves ; and,  perhaps,  Arminell  acted  sen- 
sibly in  resolving  that  they  should  begin  it  together. 

If  Arminell  had  settled  into  her  house  at  Bournemouth, 
and  kept  her  pony-carriage  and  appeared  to  be  unstraitened 
in  circumstances,  the  residents  of  Bournemouth  would,  in 
all  probability,  have  asked  who  this  Miss  Inglett  was,  and 
have  turned  up  the  name  in  the  Red  Books,  and  pushed 
enquiries  which  could  with  difficulty  have  been  evaded  ; 
but  when  she  set  up  her  establishment  as  Mrs.  Saltren,  the 
case  was  altered  ; for  the  patronymic  does  not  occur  in  the 
“ Peerage  ” or  in  “ Burke's  Landed  Gentry."  It  was  a 
name  to  baffle  enquiry,  whereas  Inglett  was  calculated  to 
provoke  it.  It  is  true  that  Arminell  might  have  changed 
her  maiden  name  without  altering  her  condition,  but  this 
she  was  reluctant  to  do. 

In  Gervase  of  Tilbury’s  “ Otia  Imperalia  ” is  an  account 
of  a remarkable  event  that  took  place  in  England  in  the 
reign  of  Henry  II.  One  day  an  anchor  descended  out  of 
the  clouds  and  grappled  the  earth,  immediately  followed  by 
a man  who  swarmed  down  the  cable  and  disengaged  the 
anchor,  whereupon  man  and  anchor  were  drawn  up  again 
into  the  clouds. 

Similar  events  occur  at  the  present  day.  People,  not 
men  alone,  but  women,  whole  families,  come  down  on  us  out 
of  the  clouds,  and  move  about  on  the  earth  in  our  midst. 


ARMINELL. 


506 

We  know  neither  whence  they  come,  nor  anything  about 
their  antecedents.  They  talk  and  eat  and  drink  like  the 
rest  of  us,  and  are  sometimes  very  agreeable  to  convtrse 
with,  and  take  infinite  pains  to  make  themselves  popular. 
Nevertheless,  we  regard  them  with  suspicion.  We  are  never 
sure  that  they  will  be  with  us  for  long.  Some  day  they 
will  release  the  anchor  and  go  up  with  a whisk  above  the 
clouds  into  the  fog-land  whence  they  fell. 

There  are  certain  times  of  the  year  when  meteoric  stones 
descend,  and  there  are  certain  belts  on  the  surface  of  the 
earth  on  which  they  chiefly  tumble.  So  is  it  with  these 
peop^  who  come  down  on  us  out  of  the  clouds.  They 
usually  fall  into  watering-places,  and  winter-quarters,  and 
always  drop  down  in  the  season  at  these  resorts.  Rarely  do 
they  descend  into  quiet  country  towns  or  rural  districts 
among  the  autochthones,  parsonic  and  squirarchical.  We 
come  on  them  abroad,  we  become  acquaintances,  we  sit 
together  at  the  opera,  organize  picnics  together,  take  coffee 
at  one  table  in  the  gardens  where  the  band  plays,  yet  we 
never  know  whence  they  have  come  and  whither  they  will 
go.  When  we  are  at  the  sea-side  with  our  family  we  meet  with 
another  family,  the  father  and  mother  respectable,  the  young 
men  handsome  and  polite,  the  girls  aesthetic,  and  with — 
oh,  such  eyes  ! The  young  people  soon  strike  up  an  in- 
timacy, go  boating,  shrimping,  nutting  together ; but  we, 
the  parents,  have  seen  the  intimacy  thicken  with  some 
uneasiness,  and  do  not  like  to  see  our  son  hang  about  the 
handsomest  of  the  girls,  or  the  most  irreproachable  of  the 
young  men  so  assiduous  in  his  attentions  to  our  daughter. 
Then  we  begin  to  institute  enquiries,  but  learn  nothing. 
Nobody  ever  heard  of  these  people  before.  Nobody  ever 
saw  them  before.  Nobody  knows  where  they  made  their 
money — yet  money  they  must  have,  for  the  girls  dress 
charmingly,  and  you  cannot  dress  charmingly  by  the  sea- 
side for  nothing. 


ARMINELL. 


507 


Then,  all  at  once,  when  these  people  become  aware 
that  you  are  pushing  enquiries,  the  blade  of  the  anchor 
wriggles  out  of  the  sand,  and  up  they  all  go,  the  young  men 
waving  their  straw  hats,  and  the  girls  casting  sad  glances 
out  of  their  splendid  eyes,  and  the  old  people  silent  about 
prosecuting  the  acquaintance  elsewhere. 

But — it  must  be  admitted  that  these  people  who  come 
down  out  of  the  clouds  do  not  for  the  most  part  form  as 
complete  a family  as  that  just  spoken  of.  Either  the  mon- 
sieur or  the  madame  is  deficient,  and  we  never  know  ex- 
actly where  he  or  she  is,  whether  above  the  clouds  or  under 
the  earth. 

No  doubt  that  at  Bournemouth,  as  at  other  sea-side 
places,  persons  appear  at  the  beginning  of  the  season,  cast 
anchor  for  a while,  and  no  one  troubles  himself  about  their 
antecedents,  because  they  are  supposed  to  be  there  for  the 
season  only ; but  were  a young  lady  to  anchor  herself 
firmly,  to  buy  a house  and  become  a permanent  resident, 
especially  if  she  were  pretty  and  rich,  do  you  suppose  that 
the  Bournemouth  residents  would  not  examine  the  cable  of 
her  anchor,  to  see  if  the  government  thread  be  woven  into 
it,  and  the  anchor  to  discover  the  maker’s  stamp?  Do  you 
not  suppose  that  they  would  set  their  telescopes  and  opera- 
glasses  to  work  to  discover  out  of  what  star  the  rope 
descended  ? 

Arminell  knew  this.  She  brought  with  her  out  of  her 
old  world  that  caution  which  bade  her  enquire  who  a person 
was  before  she  consulted  with  that  person ; and  she  was 
quite  sure  that  wherever  she  set  up  her  tent,  there  questions 
would  be  asked  concerning  her.  She  knew  that  there  were 
Mrs.  Cribbages  everywhere,  and  that  she  would  have  to  be 
on  her  guard  against  them.  But  her  difficulties  about 
keeping  her  secret  were  materially  diminished  by  marriage. 

The  ceremony  took  place  quietly,  and  no  announcement 
of  it  was  made  in  the  limes , the  Queen, , and  the  country 


ARMINELL. 


5°8 

papers.  Immediately  after  it,  she  and  Giles  departed  for 
Algiers.  That  was  the  warm  place  of  which  Mr.  Welsh 
had  spoken  to  Mrs.  Cribbage.  They  went  to  Algiers,  in- 
stead of  Bordighera  and  Mentone,  because  Saltren  had 
been  to  the  Riviera  before,  and  might  be  recognised. 

Arminell  had  constituted  herself  the  nurse  of  Jingles 
She  was  the  nurse  not  only  of  a sick  body,  but  of  an  infirm 
soul.  His  morbid  sensitiveness  was  in  part  constitutional, 
and  due  to  his  delicacy,  but  it  had  been  fostered  and  been 
ripened  by  the  falseness  of  the  position  in  which  he  had 
been  placed.  Arminell  had  recovered  her  elasticity  sooner 
than  had  he  ; but  then  she  had  not  been  reduced  to  the 
same  distress.  Both  had  been  humbled,  but  the  humilia- 
tions he  had  undergone  had  been  more  numerous,  more 
persistent  than  hers.  She,  at  her  moral  rebound,  had 
adapted  herself  to  her  situation  and  had  done  well  in  every 
capacity ; he  had  not  been  able  to  find  any  situation  in 
which  he  could  show  his  powers. 

The  body  reacts  on  the  moral  nature  more  than  we  sup- 
pose, or  allow  for  in  others.  We  call  those  ill-tempered 
who  are  in  fact  disordered  in  liver  and  not  in  heart,  and  we 
consider  those  to  be  peppery  who  in  reality  are  only  irrit- 
able because  they  have  gout  flying  about  their  joints.  The 
morbidness  of  Jingles  was  largely  due  to  his  delicacy  of 
lung,  and  with  De  Jongh’s  cod-liver  oil  would  probably  in 
time  disappear. 

When  a man  battles  a way  for  himself  into  a position  not 
his  by  right  of  birth,  he  acquires  a tough  skin.  Siegfried, 
the  Dragon-slayer,  goes  by  the  name  of  the  Horny  Siegfried 
because,  by  bathing  in  the  dragon’s  blood,  he  toughened 
his  hide — only  between  his  shoulders,  where  a linden-leaf 
fell  whilst  he  was  bathing,  could  he  be  made  to  feel. 

The  successful  men  who  have  fought  dragons  and  cap- 
tured their  guarded  treasures  are  thick-skinned,  impervious 
to  hints,  ridicule,  remonstrances — you  cannot  pinch  them, 


ARMINELL. 


509 


scratch  them,  prick  them,  unless  you  discover  the  one 
vulnerable  point.  But  Saltren  had  fought  no  dragons,  only 
his  own  shadow,  and  his  skin  was  as  thin  as  the  inner  film 
of  an  egg — highly  sensitive,  and  puckering  at  a breath. 
His  vanity  had  been  broken  away,  but  his  skin  had  not 
been  rendered  more  callous  thereby.  Formerly  he  was  in 
perpetual  dudgeon  because  he  imagined  slights  that  were 
never  offered.  He  still  imagined  slights,  but  instead  of 
becoming  angry  at  them  became  depressed. 

As  his  health  improved  in  the  dry,  salubrious  air  of 
North  Africa,  he  began  to  interest  himself  in  the  antiquities, 
to  explore  ruins,  to  copy  inscriptions,  and  so  forgot  himself 
in  archaeological  pursuits.  Arminell  encouraged  him  to 
prosecute  these  subjects,  and  he  became  more  enthusiastic 
on  them ; he  regretted  that  the  increasing  heat  would  send 
him  to  Europe.  However,  on  his  arrival  at  Bournemouth, 
he  found  occupation  in  arranging  his  library  and  setting  out 
his  antiquities.  Then  he  wrote  an  account  of  some  ex- 
plorations he  had  among  the  megalithic  monuments  near 
Constantine  for  a scientific  journal,  and  this  attracted 
attention,  and  led  to  correspondence,  and  to  the  article 
being  reprinted  with  additions,  and  to  a dispute  as  to  the 
resemblances  and  dissimilarities  between  the  Constantine 
monuments  and  the  so-called  Druidical  remains  in  Britain. 

The  following  winter  Saltren  was  again  at  Algiers,  and 
resumed  his  explorations  with  assiduity,  spent  much  time  in 
planning,  sketching,  digging,  and  formed  a theory  of  his 
own  relative  to  megalithic  monuments  contrary  to  that  of 
Mr.  Fergusson,  whom  he  resolved  to  attack  and  crush. 
When  summer  came,  at  his  particular  desire,  Arminell  and 
he  visited  Denmark  and  Norway,  where  he  examined  such 
stone  monuments  as  belonged  to  a prehistoric  period,  and 
then  went  with  her  into  Brittany. 

As  he  became  known  as  an  antiquary,  his  society  was 
sought  by  men  of  like  tastes,  and  so  he  came  to  have  a 


ARMINELL. 


510 

little  circle  of  acquaintances,  which  tended  to  widen,  and 
as  those  who  came  to  know  him  through  prehistoric  rude 
stone  monuments  fell  in  love  with  his  charming  young 
wife,  they  insisted  on  their  womankind  calling  and  knowing 
her  also.  In  vain  did  the  ladies  ask,  “But,  who  was  she?” 
They  were  crushed  with  the  reply,  “ My  dears,  what  does  it 
matter  what  she  was , she  is  the  wife  of  one  of  our  first 
authorities  on  comparative  megalithology.”  So,  by  degrees, 
the  young  couple  formed  a coterie  about  themselves,  and 
were  no  longer  solitary  and  feeling  as  if  they  were  outcasts. 

Now  and  then  Mr.  Welsh  ran  down  to  Bournemouth  and 
spent  a day  with  them,  and  sometimes  Mrs.  Welsh  brought 
the  baby ; but  the  Welshes  were  no  assistance  to  them  in 
social  matters.  The  Welsh  circle  was  of  a different  style  of 
mind  and  manner  and  interest  from  that  which  formed 
round  the  Saltrens.  It  was  not  a circle  which  could  wax 
excited  over  anything  prehistoric,  it  was  so  completely 
engrossed  in  the  present. 

But  the  Welshes  were  always  received  with  the  utmost 
warmth  and  kindness  by  Arminell,  who  could  not  forget 
what  she  owed  to  them,  and  harboured  for  the  Radical 
journalist  an  affection  quite  special,  mixed  with  great  re- 
spect. She  knew  the  thorough  goodness  of  the  man,  and 
she  delighted  in  his  smartness. 

“ Look  here,  Tryphoena,”  said  James  Welsh  one  day  to 
his  wife  ; “ do  you  remember  what  I said  to  you  about 
aristocrats  and  their  trains  ? There  is  something  else  I will 
tell  you.  Once  upon  a time,  say  the  Mussulmans,  Allah, 
sitting  on  his  throne  in  paradise,  dropped  the  slipper  off  his 
foot,  and  it  fell  down  into  hell.  Then  he  called  to  Adam, 
and  bade  him  go  and  fetch  it.  ‘ What  ! ’ exclaimed  Adam, 
‘ shall  I,  who  am  made  in  the  likeness  of  God,  descend  to 
the  place  of  devils  ? God  forbid  ! ’ Then  Allah  ordered 
Abraham  to  go  after  his  slipper.  ‘ Shall  I go  down  into 
hell?  I who  am  the  friend  of  God  ! Far  be  it  from  me  ! ' 


ARMINELL. 


511 


was  his  reply.  Then  Allah  turned  to  Moses,  and  he  ex- 
claimed, * What ! shall  I,  who  am  the  law-giver  of  God,  I 
who  led  the  people  out  of  the  brick-kilns,  shall  I descend  to 
the  furnace  ? Away  with  the  thought ! ’ And  David  cried, 
when  Allah  turned  to  him,  ‘ Nay,  but  I am  the  psalmist  of 
God,  press  we  not  to  go  where  demons  yell  discords.’  And 
Isaiah  “had  also  an  objection  to  go,  for  he  said,  ‘I  am  the 
prophet  of  God.’  Then  Allah  turned  to  Mahomet,  and 
said,  ‘Wilt  thou  go  after  my  slipper?’  And  Mahomet 
answered,  * I go  at  once,  I am  the  servant  of  God.’  Where- 
upon Allah  exclaimed,  ‘ Thou  only  art  worthy  to  sit  on  my 
throne.  All  the  rest  are  a parcel  of  cads  ’ — or  words  to 
that  effect.” 

a But,  James,  what  has  this  to  do  with  the  aristocracy?” 

“ Be  silent,  Tryphoena,  and  listen.  You  and  I,  and  all 
those  who  have  clambered  up  the  steps  of  the  social  heaven, 
are  mightily  tenacious  of  our  places,  and  resent  the  slightest 
suggestion  made  to  us  to  step  below.  We  clutch  at  our 
seats  and  insist  on  every  prerogative  and  privilege  that 
attaches  to  it.  Quite  right  that  it  should  be  so.  We  value 
the  place  we  have  gained,  because  it  has  cost  us  so  much 
effort  to  attain  it,  and  because  we  have  to  balance  ourselves 
and  cling  so  tight  to  keep  ourselves  from  sliding  down. 
But  it  is  different  with  those  who  have  been  born  and 
brought  up  on  the  footstool  of  the  throne.  They  don’t 
want  a pat  of  cobblers’-wax  to  keep  them  firm  on  their  seat, 
and  they  are  not  scrupulous  about  descending  after  Allah’s 
shoe  wherever  it  may  have  fallen.  If  they  go  down  to 
hell  they  don’t  get  smoked.  They  don’t  find  anyone  dis- 
puting their  seats  when  they  return.  They  can  go  and 
come,  and  we  must  sit  and  cling.  That  makes  a difference. 
There  is  something  of  Allah  everywhere,  only  it  wants  fetch- 
ing up.  Just  see  what  has  been  made  of  that  girl, 
Thomasine  Kite.  If  ever  there  was  a wilful,  unruly 
creature,  fated  to  go  to  the  devil,  it  was  she.  And  what 


AkMlNfcLL. 


$1* 

could  you  do  with  her  ? Nothing.  You  sat  on  a step  just 
above  her,  and  were  not  able  to  stoop  for  fear  of  toppling 
over.  She  is  not  the  same  girl  now,  and  I hear  she  is  going 
to  be  married  to  a sergeant  of  the  coastguard.  She  is  a 
well-conducted  woman,  passionately  attached  to  her  mistress, 
and  no  wonder, — Arminell  has  brought  up  Allans  slipper 
out  of  her.  Look  again  at  Jingles ! I never  had  any 
opinion  of  him — a conceited,  morbid  monkey — and  I could 
have  done  nothing  with  him ; I lack  the  tact  or  whatever  it 
is  that  is  needful.  But  he  is  changed  also,  unobtrusive, 
self-respecting,  learned,  and  modest — she  has  brought  up 
Allah’s  slipper  out  of  him.” 

“You  are  a weather-cock,  James.  At  one  time  you  were 
all  against  the  aristocracy,  and  now  no  one  can  do  anything 
right  unless  he  has  blue  blood  in  him.  And  yet — you  call 
yourself  a Radical.” 

“ So  I am — a Radical  still,”  said  Welsh.  “ I have  not 
altered  my  opinions,  but  my  mode  of  procedure.  I do  not 
want  to  pull  the  aristocracy  down,  but  to  pull  all  society  up 
to  it  I don’t  say  that  no  one  can  fetch  up  Allah’s  slipper 
but  a born  gentleman,  but  I do  say  that  no  one  who  has 
not  attained  to  the  aristocratic  ease  in  a superior  position,  is 
likely  to  descend  to  seek  Allah’s  slipper,  wherever  it  is  to 
be  found.  I may  have  been  wrong  in  thinking  the  best  way 
of  advancing  society  was  by  pinching  the  calves  of  those 
who  sat  above  me,  so  as  to  make  their  seat  intolerable,  in- 
stead of  lending  a hand  to  help  up  those  below  to  a share 
of  my  stool.  Do  you  understand  me,  old  woman  ? ” 

“I  do  not  think  I do.  You  have  such  a figurative 
method  of  speaking,  James.” 


CHAPTER  LIV. 


MEGALITHIC. 

One  bright  summer  day,  when  the  sea  was  still  and  blue  as 
the  nemophyla,  and  twinkling  as  if  strewn  with  diamond 
dust,  Arminell  was  in  her  garden,  with  an  apron  on,  gloves 
over  her  hands,  a basket  on  her  arm,  and  scissors  for 
flowers. 

At  the  end  of  the  garden,  partly  screened  by  rhodo- 
dendrons, was  a summer-house,  and  outside  it  some  lumps 
of  plaster  of  Paris,  pots  of  oil-paint,  and  slabs  of  slate, 
smeared  with  mortar.  Occasionally  the  door  of  the  pavilion 
opened,  and  a man  issued  from  it  wearing  a brown-holiand 
blouse,  and  on  his  head  a paper  cap.  Particles  and  splashes 
of  plaster  marked  his  face,  especially  about  the  nose,  where 
he  had  rubbed  with  a white  finger. 

“ I will  have  it  all  cleaned  away,  Giles,”  said  Arminell. 
“ How  are  you  getting  on  with  the  models  ? ” 

“Very  well,  only  the  plaster  does  not  set  as  fast  as  I 
could  wish.  When  I have  got  the  dolmens  of  Gozo  and 
Constantine,  of  Lock  Mariaker  and  Madron  to  scale,  side 
by  side,  the  most  prejudiced  persons  must  agree  that  the 
similarity  of  construction  is  strong  evidence  of  identity  of 
origin.  I can  show  on  my  map  of  megalithic  monuments 
where  the  stream  of  dolmen  builders  travelled,  how  that  it 
set  from  Asia,  along  the  margin  of  the  Baltic,  and  then 


ARMINELL. 


5*4 

branched  north  over  Britain,  and  south  over  Gaul.  I can 
prove  conclusively  that  they  were  not  Gauls  and  Kelts. 
Just  come  and  look  at  my  cromlechs  and  dolmens  in  the 
rough.  The  resemblance  saute  aux  yeux.  We  must  estab- 
lish their  geographical  distribution,  and  then  compare  their 
points  of  similarity  and  dis ” 

“ Please,  ma'am,  a lady  and  a young  gentleman  are  in  the 
drawing-room,  and  want  to  see  you.” 

“ What  names  ? ” 

“ They  gave  none,  ma’am.” 

Arminell  removed  her  apron,  took  off  her  gloves,  and 
handed  them  and  the  basket  to  the  maid,  then  went  to- 
wards the  drawing-room  glass  door  opening  upon  the 
garden. 

“Some  people  come  to  collect  for  the  Jubilee,”  said 
Arminell  aside  to  her  husband,  as  she  passed. 

“ I heard  they  were  about.” 

In  a i other  moment,  however,  Saltren,  who  was^  engaged 
on  his  models  of  prehistoric  rude  stone  monuments,  heard 
a cry,  and  returning  to  the  door  of  his  laboratory,  saw 
Arminell  in  the  arms  of  an  old  lady,  and  at  the  same 
moment  recognised  her,  and  also  the  boy  at  her  side. 
Then,  without  removing  his  blouse  or  his  paper  cap,  he  ran 
also  across  the  garden,  to  welcome  Lady  Lamerton  and  his 
old  pupil,  Giles. 

I do  not  think  I could  better  illustrate  the  fact  of  the 
transformation  that  had  been  effected  in  Jingles,  than  by 
mentioning  this  incident.  Can  you — I cannot — conceive 
of  Mr.  Jingles  as  tutor  at  Orleigh  Park,  allowing  himself  to 
be  seen  smudged  with  plaster,  in  a paper  cap,  with  a nose 
of  chalky  whiteness  ? On  the  present  occasion  he  was  so 
excited,  so  pleased  to  see  dear  Lady  Lamerton  and  Giles 
again,  that  he  forgot  all  about  his  own  personal  appearance, 
and  even  about  the  quoit  of  the  Madron  cromlech  he  was 
then  modelling  to  scale. 


ARMINELL. 


515 

Lady  Lamerton  had  come  to  see  Arminell,  as  Arminell 
could  not  visit  her ; and  this  was  her  first  visit.  She  had 
not  ventured  before,  because  she  did  not  think  it  prudent, 
not  because  her  heart  did  not  draw  her  to  Arminell. 

The  most  contradictory  reports  had  circulated  relative  to 
the  girl.  Some  had  asserted  that  she  was  dead,  others  de- 
clared she  was  alive.  Then  it  was  said  she  was  lodging  in 
London,  under  an  assumed  name,  and  had  made  herself 
notorious  by  her  advocacy  of  woman’s  rights,  divided  skirts, 
and  social  democracy.  It  was  asserted  that  she  had  be- 
come a platform  orator  and  a writer  under  the  direction  of 
that  revolutionist,  James  Welsh.  This  was  again  denied, 
and  said  to  rest  on  a mistake  arising  from  James  Welsh 
having  had  a general  servant  named  Inglett.  After  a 
twelvemonth  gossip  ceased,  for  interest  was  no  longer  taken 
in  a person  who  was  no  more  seen,  and  who  probably  was 
dead. 

And  what  does  it  matter,  argued  the  cynical,  whether  she 
be  dead  or  alive,  as  she  is  no  more  in  society  ? We  know 
nothing  of  those  who  do  not  appear,  who  have  not  been 
presented,  who  are  not  danced  before  our  eyes. 

In  mediaeval  times  there  were  oubliettes  in  all  castles,  and 
inconvenient  persons  were  let  fall  down  them  to  disappear 
for  ever.  Did  they  break  their  necks  in  falling  ? Or  did 
they  linger  on,  fed  on  bread  and  water,  and  languish  for 
years  ? What  did  it  matter  ? They  were  practically  dead 
when  the  trap-door  closed  over  their  heads. 

Every  aristocratic,  every  gentle  family  has  now  what  was 
anciently  the  prerogative  of  the  mightiest  barons  only. 
Every  family  is  encumbered  with  its  awkward  and  trouble- 
some members  who  must  be  dropped  somewhere. 

The  Honourable  Arminell  Inglett  had  gone  down  an 
oubliette , but  whether  it  were  the  family  vault  or  a social 
limbo  mattered  nothing.  We  are  too  wise  to  ask  about  her. 
We  never  do  anything  inconsistent  with  good  taste.  We 


ARMINELL. 


5l6 

let  sleeping  dogs  lie,  and  don't  push  enquiries  about  dropped 
relatives. 

When  we  are  invited  to  dine  at  my  lord's,  we  do  not  peep 
to  see  if  the  broken  meats  and  the  half-finished  bottles  be 
tumbled  down  under  the  feet  to  be  mumbled  and  drained 
by  the  forgotten  ones  beneath.  When  we  dance  at  my 
lady's  Christmas  ball,  in  the  state  ball-room,  we  know  very 
well  that  below  it  is  the  family  oubliette , but  we  scuffle  with 
our  feet  to  drown  the  moans  of  those  mauvais  sujets  who  lie 
below,  and  the  orchestra  sounds  its  loudest  strains  to  dis- 
guise the  rattle  of  their  chains. 

" My  dear  husband,"  said  Arminell,  “ take  Lamerton  to 
see  your  models.  They  will  interest  him,  and  I will  go  in 
with  mamma.  Besides,  you  can  clear  his  mind  of  delusions 
with  respect  to  the  Druids,  which  is  really  important.  You 
know  that  there  is  a circle  of  stones  on  Orleigh  Common, 
and  in  an  unguarded  moment  the  boy  might  attribute  them 
to  the  ancient  Britons." 

“ The  matter  is  not  one  to  joke  upon,"  said  Jingles,  with 
a flicker  of  annoyance  in  his  face. 

Then  he  retreated  to  the  pavilion  with  his  old  pupil,  to 
show  him  the  work  on  which  he  was  engaged. 

Arminell,  quick  in  perception,  saw  that  Lady  Lamerton 
had  noticed  the  transient  cloud,  so  she  said,  with  a smile, 
“ Do  you  remember  my  husband  when  he  was  Giles's  tutor  ? 
I mean,  do  you  remember  how  sensitive  he  then  was,  how 
he  winced  when  you  came  near  him  ? I have  heard  of 
nervous  disorders  that  make  men  thus  susceptible.  If  you 
put  a finger  on  them,  they  scream  and  writhe  ; if  near  them, 
they  quiver  with  apprehension.  He  was  in  like  manner 
touchy.  Now,  however,  he  is  quite  recovered.  There  is 
but  one  single  point  on  which  he  is  sensitive,  and  where  a 
feather  will  make  him  wince." 

“ What  is  that?" 


ARMINELL. 


517 

“ Megalithic  monuments.” 

“ Megalithic  monuments,  my  dear  ? ” 

“Yes,  mamma.  He  loves  me  dearly,  but  even  I,  who 
can  do  almost  anything  with  him,  would  shrink  from  hold- 
ing Mr.  Fergusson’s  view  that  Stonehenge  was  a work  of  the 
Anglo-Saxons.  If  it  did  not  separate  us,  it  would  make  a 
temporary  estrangement.  But,  understand  me,  we  are  the 
greatest  of  friends,  we  never  quarrel.  1 believe  with  all  my 
soul  that  the  rude  stone  monuments  are  prehistoric  and 
pre-Keltic.” 

“ And  what  are  his  political  views  ? ” 

“ I do  not  think  he  has  any.  But  he  is  deeply  interested 
in  the  bill  for  the  acquisition  and  nationalisation  of  the 
antiquities  of  the  country.  He  says,  and  I agree  with  him, 
that  if  Britain  is  to  maintain  her  place  as  a leading  nation 
in  the  civilized  world,  she  should  conserve  most  strictly 
every  prehistoric  monument  on  the  soil.” 

Then  Arminell  made  Lady  Lamerton  rest  on  the  sofa ; 
and  she  drew  a stool  to  her  feet,  and  sat  there  holding  her 
hands. 

“ I dare  say  you  cannot  understand  why  I married  him,” 
she  said,  after  a short  period  of  silence  and  mutual  endear- 
ments. “ But  I was  much  alone,  and  oh  ! so  solitary.  I 
wanted  a companion  and  did  not  relish  the  idea  of  an 
elderly  eligible  female,  who,  with  bland  perpetual  smile,  ac- 
quiescence in  all  my  vagaries,  non-resistance  to  my  opinion, 
would  have  been  intolerable  to  me.  I could  not  do  without 
a companion,  and  I could  not  endure  the  society  of  one. 
It  is  the  vocation  of  these  companions  to  be  complaisant, 
to  have  no  view,  no  opinion,  no  personality.  Unless  she 
were  all  that,  she  would  be  no  companion ; if  she  were  all 
that,  she  would  be  insupportable  to  me.  Then — with  her  I 
could  not  have  talked  about  dear  Orleigh.” 

She  stroked  and  then  kissed  her  step-mother's  hand. 
“Also  poor  Jingles— I mean  Mr.  Saltren— required  a 


ARMINELL. 


5<8 

companion,  a nurse  ; some  one  to  look  after  him  day  and 
night,  and  see  that  he  changed  his  socks  when  they  were 
damp,  and  drank  fresh  milk  warm  from  the  cow,  and  took 
tonics  at  regular  hours,  and  had  sweet-oil  rubbed  into  his 
back  between  the  shoulder-blades.  I could  not  ask  Mrs. 
Bankes  to  do  that,  or  the  housemaid,  and  there  was  really 
no  one  else  who  could  be  asked.  I could  not  do  this 
unless  I married  him,  and  so — I became  his  wife,  and 
rubbed  in  the  sweet-oil.  Thank  God,  he  is  a strong  man 
now  ; but  he  has  to  be  kept  up  to  the  mark.  I go  with 
him  when  he  makes  archaeological  excursions  to  the  Morbi- 
han,  or  to  Scotland  to  plan  old  stones,  for  when  he  gets 
interested  he  forgets  himself,  and  would  work  on  in  an  east 
wind  or  in  a sou’-west  drizzle  unless  I were  by  to  insist  on 
his  postponing  the  measurements  till  the  weather  mends. 
He  is  a dear,  amiable  fellow,  and  yields  with  the  best  grace. 
It  is  real  pleasure  to  have  to  do  with  him. ' Now  tell  me 
something  about  Orleigh.” 

“ About  the  people  ? ” 

“O  yes,  mamma,  about  the  dear  people  there.” 

“ You  know  that  Sam  Ceely  is  married  to  Joan  Melhuish, 
and  she  is  devoted  to  that  old  impostor  as  you  seem  to  be 
to  your  patient.  They  live  now  in  the  cottage  which  was 
occupied  by  Captain  Tubb  till  he  moved  to  the  old  quarry.” 
“ Where  is  Patience  Kite  ? ” 

“ She  has  been  had  up  twice  before  the  magistrates  for 
obtaining  money  under  false  pretences.  She  is  an  inveter- 
ate witch,  and  might  well  have  been  left  alone,  but  xMrs. 
Cribbage  has  taken  a dislike  to  her,  and  set  the  police  upon 
her,  and  has  had  her  summonsed.  Just  now  she  is  in 
prison,  because  she  could  not  pay  the  fine  imposed  on  her. 
How  is  her  daughter,  Thomasine  ? ” 

“ Thomasine  ! — I will  ring  and  you  shall  see  her.” 

“ Not  just  yet,  Arminell.” 

“ No,  presently.  She  is  the  belle  of  Bournemouth 


ARMINELL.  . 


ST9 


Such  a handsome  girl,  blooms  into  greater  beauty  than  ever, 
and  is  so  good  and  affectionate  and  steady.  She  is  going 
to  be  married  to  a coast-guard  man,  a most  respectable 
fellow.” 

“ And  now  about  yourself,  Armie.  Does  time  not  hang 
heavy  on  your  hands  ? You  cannot  be  always  engaged  on 
pre-historic  antiquities.” 

“ Indeed,  mamma,”  answered  Arminell  with  energy, 
“time  does  not  hang  heavy  on  m.y  hands.  I have,  of 
course,  my  dear  husband,  to  consider  first  of  all,  but  I have 
plenty  to  occupy  me  besides — duties  thoroughly  humdrum. 
I visit  the  old  women,  I read  to  the  sick,  I am  an  active 
patroness  of  the  Girls'  Friendly  Society,  and  I teach  every 
Sunday  in  the  school.” 

“ You  do ! Why,  Armie,  you  used  to  hate  Sunday 
School.” 

“ Dear  mamma,  I wish  you  could  hear  my  class  of  girls, 
they  have  just  acquired  the  list  of  apocryphal  books  which 
are  not  to  be  applied  to  establish  doctrine.  And,  till  I 
find  some  positive  truth  to  teach,  I content  myself  with 
making  them  repeat  the  names  of  all  the  homilies  which  no 
one  has  read,  and  which  never  are  likely  to  be  read.  They 
have  also  been  taught  the  meaning  of  Quinquagesima,  Sexa- 
gesima,  and  Septuagesima.” 

“ And  you  think  you  are  really  doing  good,  Armie  ? ” 

“ 1 am  using  all  my  energies  to  teach  my  girls  to  grow 
up  humdrum  women.” 


THE  END. 


